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IN BARRACK 
AND FIELD 



POEMS AND SKETCHES OF 
ARMY LIFE 



By LIEUT. COL. JOHN B. BEALL 



IN THREE PARTS 



SMITH & LAMAR, AGENTS 

PUBLISHING HOUSE OF THE M. E. CHURCH, SOUTH 

NASHVILLE, TENN.. DALLAS, TEX. 

igo6 



LIBRARY of CONGRFSS 
Two Cooie? Received 

MAY 28 1906 

i Copyrifihi Entry 

Cl/ASS CC XXc. No. 

COPY B. 



Copyright, 1906 

BY 

John B. Beall 



tC=o5 



TABLE OF CONTENTS. 

Part I. . 

Po£ms. p^cE 

A Mother's Prayer ; 9 

A Vision .' lo 

Called Back.... 13 

Little Blanche 14 

As the Crowd Goes 15 

Na-li-tah 16 

Recollections of Home 17 

"More Light" 20 

My Jewels 21 

Can I Forget? 22 

A Veteran's Musings : An Old Tree 22 

Treasure 23 

For You 24 

To My Niece, Nannie (Aged Five) 25 

Bereaved 25 

Treasures in Heaven 26 

Help Me, Lest I Drift Away 28 

The Willow and the Oak 29 

The River and the Tree 30 

Ready 31 

A Veteran's Fancies 31 

To Fannie 32 

Out of the Depths 33 

The Fruit of the Spirit 34 

Olive 35 

Dear Heart * 37 

For My Niece's Album 38 

To My Niece 39 

For Mary's Album 41 

3 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

PAGE 

To Henry Houston, Friend and Comrade 42 

Epistle to Mary 42 

Love and Pleasure 44 

Then and Now 44 

To Mary 45 

The Softly Speaking Eye 46 

Tired of the Struggle 47 

To Little Meg (One Year Old) 47 

The Shelter of Home 49 

To Lucy 49 

To My Niece (Acrostic) 50 

Why the Maiden Sings 51 

On Receiving Some Georgia Newspapers 53 

To Fred W. Reeder, My Comrade and Friend 54 

Charity 55 

Christian Confidence 57 

To a Young Poet-Lawyer 58 

The Onion 60 

A Veteran's Musings 61 

Moonlight Musings 62 

Christmas 63 

The Dying Year 65 

Happy New Year to All 65 

Loss and Gain 66 

The Spring 67 

The South in Ante-Bellum Days 71 

Part H. 
Oji the Frontier in Ante-Bellum Days. 

Enlistment 79 

En Route to the Rendezvous 82 

A Case of Cholera 85 

The Daily Routine 97 

The Commissioned Officers 100 

General S. D. Sturgis 105 

Comradeship 112 

4 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

PAGE 

A Boor with Shoulder Straps 1 16 

How Not to Do It 124 

Under Arrest 130 

A Night Scene in the Guardhouse 143 

Bleeding Kansas 144 

The Fight at Franklin 147 

Demonstration against Lecompton 152 

"Bran" 153 

A Forager Surprised 160 

Skirmishing with Jayhawkers 164 

A Night Watch — How a Tenderfoot May Get Bewildered 

on the Prairie 167 

Demoralization in the Ranks 172 

A Horse Fancier 177 

On the Plains, Expedition to Mark the Southern Bound- 
ary of Kansas 182 

Chasing a Horse 191 

Diary 1857 200 

A Foul Murder , 206 

A Storm on the Plains 208 

In Winter Quarters 226 

A Rainy Night on Picket 227 

"An Unpardonable Neglect of Duty" 229 

Good Fellowship 232 

Retribution 236 

The Sergeant Becomes a Private, and Gets a Taste of 

Petty Tyranny Flavored with Onions 241 

A Long March 245 

Fort Washita 249 

The Washita Fly Leaf 253 

A Chickasaw's Jealousy 266 

A Thrilling Adventure 271 

Up the Washita 273 

Return to Washita 2*77 

Death in Washita River 278 

5 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Part III. 

Camp, Tramp, and Battle in the Sixties. ^j^^^ 

A Patriot Mother 291 

Raising a Company 296 

Off for Lynchburg 303 

Ordered to Manassas 307 

A Wonderful Memory 310 

General Lovell 312 

Asleep on Post 313 

A Court-Martial 315 

At Occoquan 319 

The Situation 323 

A Grievous Temptation, a Pleasant Episode, and a Disap- 
pointment 324 

Back to the Line of the Rappahannock 326 

On to Yorkto wn 333 

Engagement at Eltham's Landing ^37 

Seven Pines 341 

Picket Duty 356 

Mechanicsville 362 

Uncle Billy vs. Surgeon Green 371 

An Arbitrary Captain 377 

The Triumph of Humanity 383 

How Private Tidwell Escaped 385 

Commercialism in War 387 

Assigned to Duty 389 

Ordered to James Island 392 

Carroll in War Times 396 

A Battalion of Cavalry, Ancients and Infants, Organized 

for Local Service 401 

A Ride Up Peachtree Street 405 

Cavalry Fight at Newnan ■ 407 

Kilpatrick's Raid 408 

After the Battle 411 

In Camp Once More 416 

An Irate Farmer 417 

6 



PART I 

POEMS. 



With few exceptions the verses here presented are the 
spontaneous expressions in varying moods of some of the 
passing or cherished fancies, aspirations, or thoughts that 
have marked the different phases from youth to age of a 
mind prone to revery rather than the studied efforts of one 
striving to contribute to the treasures of poesy with which 
the genius of the time has enriched our literature. 



A MOTHER'S PRAYER. 

On the border of a valley 

Where the Tallapoosa glides, 
Where the placid hush of nature 

In the forest shadow bides — 
There, by wood and glen surrounded. 

Deeply hidden in the shade, 
A rustic homestead, ancient founded. 

Rears its unpretending head. 

Peacefully the night is closing, 
Closing softly o'er the scene. 

And saddened hearts, in peace reposing, 
Dream of joys that once have been. 

But in that wood-embowered cot 
One there is, who dreameth not ; 

Unto the widow's God a prayer 
Is rising through the silent air ; 

Angel pinions bear it heavenward. 
Angel hands record it there. 

"O God, thou hast been good to me. 

And every blessing thou hast given ; 
My love, my life I owe to thee, 

But grant me this, O God of heaven : 
That he, my young, my wayward son, 

Now gone to mingle in the fight. 
The struggle of his life begun. 

May ever tread the path of right. 
9 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Guide him, O God, in honor's way, 

Shield him from the treacherous foe, 
And teach his erring heart to pray 

And look to thee in every woe. 
To thee, O God of Israel's king. 

Son of the holy virgin bride, 
O bend his early faith to cling. 

And let his hope in thee abide. 

And O forgive, forgive the pang 
That rends a mother's anxious heart ! 

Thou knowest the anguish throes that hang 
Around the hour when loved ones part." 

Thus she prays, and faith, new-springing, 

Bears the burden of her soul 
Up to Him whose praises, ringing, 

Sound while endless ages roll. 



A VISION. 

[In compliment to a comrade who was teaching a night school at the Post 
Chapel.] 

As I went ganging t'other night 

Out o'er the way, I cared not where. 
Hoping to banish from my sight 

The visage of a pressing care, 
I met as queer a looking wight 

As it has been my lot to see : 
A sooty form, with horns bedight. 

And glowering brow, confronting me. 

lO 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I gazed a moment in his eyes, 
Still thinking whether it were wise 
To turn about and flee instanter, 
As once the luckless Tarn O'Shanter. 
For surely, if the rhyming chiel. 

The ''ram-stam bard" of Caledonia, 
Hath spoken right, it is the ''De'il," 

"Auld Nick" himself, that stands before me. 

While yet I stood and gazed in wonder, 
"Fear not," he said, "for, though, by thunder. 
You have many a wile and trick 
To make your conscience chime and click, 

I shall not worry. 
For that Fm sure of at the nick 

Requires no hurry. 
So, if you wish to gang this way 
And end the labors of the day 
With social chat or other plan 
That meets my views, then Fm your man; 

Or come along. 
An' if it please you more, I can 

E'en sing a song." 

''Auld Clootie" spake with such a smile. 

And, smiling, bowed with such a grace. 
That, though I knew his garb the while, 
I doubted Fd mista'en his face ; 

Such holy frown ! 
Fve seen its like in other place 
O'er surplice gown. 
II 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

"I will," he said, "confide to you 
A secret grief of mine or two. 
Things are working famous well 
For my dominions down — ^below; 

Envy and Hate 
Are sailing high, with fleets in tow 

Of glorious freight. 

And Pride is doing noble work, 
For he is bold, and scorns to shirk, 
Making in front the main attack. 
While sneaking Malice, at his back, 

Brings up the rear. 
And Flattery assails the flank. 

And wounds the ear. 

And Love of Gain is fighting hard, 
With faro and the faithful card ; 
For winners feel a sweet alloy, 
Which I have taught them to enjoy 

As real pleasure. 
While losers envy them the cloy 

Of ill-got treasure. 

Old Tenpin too is faithful still, 
And serves me with a right good will ; 
'Tis vain that laws and judges fret, 
He lures new victims to my net. 

And aids the bar 
To bring a greater cargo yet 

Than Hate or War. 

12 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

All these things, both far and near, 
Are working well, and even here ; 
But lately I've been sorely tried 
To see my power here defied 

And spit at, too. 
By one whom I imagined tied 

As hard as you. 

This Dutchman Reeder, with his school, 
Teaching to work and live by rule. 
Will cut more ties that I have bound 
And set more thoughts to floating round, 

Of good intent. 
Than Parson B. hath ever found 

His sermons lent." 

'Tis true, I thought, and made a vow 
I'd sometime tell friend Reeder how 
"Auld Nick" regards his glorious work. 
And how it makes him wince and jerk 

When we do well ; 
Then homeward turned, and bade good night 
He did the same, and took his flight 

Off straight to sheol. 
Fort Washita, Ind. T., 1859. 



CALLED BACK. 

[Impromptu in self-defense, the "Little Maiden" whom I had unwittingly 
offended having gone and left me to the mercy of her friends of my household ] 

Dear Myrtie, come back. 

And don't go in a huff, 
Though I frankly admit 

That my manner was rough. 
13 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Little maiden, so witching, 

Don't make such a pother ; 
Can't I hold fast to one 

Without losing the other ? 
You've made the house brighter, 

Your presence became 
As the light of the moon 

In her orient flame ; 
But since you have fled, 

'Tis the moon in her wane 
And we sigh for your sweet, 

Quiet presence again. 

What if Mary remain, 
If the light is gone out 

That shone so around us 
When Myrt was about? 

It is dismal and dark, 
And I humbly declare 

I'm afraid they'll eradicate 
All of my hair. 

So come, little maiden. 

As quick as you can ; 
If you don't, odds zounds ! 

I'm a baldheaded man. 



LITTLE BLANCHE. 

Little Blanche, with eyes of gray. 
How sweet thy baby prattle, 

Laughing all the hours away. 
Nor dreaming of Hfe's battle! 
14 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

O, charming is the spring of Hfe, 

In sunny ripplets flowing; 
Naught of the painful, anxious strife, 

Nor tears nor anguish knowing. 

Thy sparkHng eyes have no deceit, 

Thy love is all unfeigning; 
Truth in thy heart holds fast her seat, 

No rival with her reigning. 

Men barter favor for a price, 
■ And bend to wealth and power; 
Even woman smiles on gilded vice 
In banquet hall and bower. 

But thou, my Blanche, so pure thy heart, 

An angel's were no purer; 
Thy tongue hath neither guile nor art. 

And Truth can be no truer. 



AS THE CROWD GOES. 

"He's a genius," so they said. 
And they passed on th' other side- 
Passed him with his load of care, 
All his weary weight of care. 
Heedless though it press him down 
But the whisper still went round, 
"He's a genius." 

"He's a blockhead," so they say, 
But they cringe to catch the ray 
Of his smile ; low they bow. 
And in his train they follow now, 
15 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

For he's very rich, you know ; 
So the crowds all fawning go, 
But, even as they fawn, they know 
"He's a blockhead." 



NA-LI-TAH. 

O, LOVELY Chickasaw maid, 

If thou wilt fly with me — 
Fly to some distant isle 

In some enchanted sea — 
Thy gentle spirit's love, 

A priceless boon to me, 
Is all my heart shall crave; 

Then come, O come to me ! 

Thine eyes my heaven shall be 
And Love shall ever smile 

On thee, and thou on me, 
In that enchanted isle. 

Away in the open sea. 
The opalescent sea. 

There Love and you and me. 
And Fairies with us three. 

Shall find the Houri's heaven, 
Where the silver lutes of day 

And the golden harps of even 
Awaken music's spell 
And fill each shadowy dell 

With notes of joyous glee. 
In that enchanted isle. 

That isle of the summer sea. 
i6 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Sweet Philomel shall trill 
Harmonia's sweetest air 
For thee, for thee, my fair, 

And every golden rill 

Will pause to get thy kiss, 
Then laugh and sing its bliss 

And tell it to the flowers, 
That only bloom for thee 

In our enchanted isle 

Of the peaceful, moonlit sea. 



RECOLLECTIONS OF HOME, 

Secure from vernal showers that fall around, 
Beneath the canvas roof I lay me down, 
While flitting pictures pass in swift review, 
Which Fancy paints, in ever-varying hue. 

With musings fond, on scenes of other years, 
With swelling heart, or unregarded tears, 
Where Caha's stream, mid oaken groves along, 
Finds out her devious way, I raise my song. 
I strike no harp that bards of old have strung, 
When scenes of strife in epic phrase they sung; 
Far dearer themes, in humbler song, I bring — 
A new-fledged muse must touch a simple string. 
The farmer's hearty joys, his griefs, though few. 
The scenes 'mong which my early friendships grew, 
Where easy toil content and health do bring — 
These scenes I love, and 'tis of these I sing. 
2 17 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

O'er plains ''expanding to the skies" I roam, 
Away from parent, friends, and early home, 
Unfriended, toiling in the world's great -mart, 
With oft a cheerless, oft a heavy heart. 
But now a dewdrop, sparkling in the sun, 
The music of a laughing brooklet's run, 
A ray of sunshine, or the pattering rain, 
Restores the past and brightens all the plain. 
Unwonted smiles now kindle up once more, 
Unwonted sighs the treasured past deplore. 

"Look forward — hope," some friendly mentor cries; 

I look, but scarce does Expectation rise, 

Ere Disappointment, with his surly train, 

Obscures the view and sinks my heart again. 

A murky night lies out before my mind, 

A glorious light illumines all behind. 

Then, since the Future thus withholds her charms. 

I turn again to Memory's willing arms ; 

Each bygone pleasure in her eyes I'll trace, 

And feel the rapture of her dear embrace. 

The wood-crowned hills again I wander o'er. 
The sunny glades, the brooklet's pebbled shore, 
Where, in my youth, with Mary oft I strayed, 
Or, lonely, sought the ivy's grateful shade ; 
The broad fields too, where erst a cheerful band 
The harvest gathered, of a generous land. 

What fragrant flowers there bloomed around us then ! 
How cool the spring that gurgled in the glen ! 
There, with a zest that only labor feels, 
We paused to rest and share the noontide meals; 

i8 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

At evening then, with many a rustic song, 

We hastened home, through wooded shades along. 

To bin the grain the summer's sun had dried— 

The full, plump grain, a farmer's special pride ; 

To feed the flocks or drive the "lowing herd." 

Zealous to win the sire's approving word. 

And well we knew that many a cheering smile. 

The rich reward of daily finished toil, 

Would greet us when, with hearty, manful tone, 

The elder told how well our work was done. 

Paternal smile I My childhood's dearest boon ! 

So loved, so cherished, lost to me so soon ! 

How vividly warm fancy brings to mind 

That brow ! There love and rev'rence sat enshrined 

There God had written, with a stainless pen, 

Each manly virtue that the angels ken. 

And one yet dearer to my infant soul. 

Whose eye would kindle, if my praise were told ; 

Whose heart, indignant, would repel the shame, 

If aught reflected on my spotless name. 

A brow where meekness and affection blend, 

A heart, whose love nor time nor death can bend. 

The seat of every Christian grace and worth. 

And only waiting heaven while serving earth. 

Delightful memory ! Scenes forever past ! 
Sweet, fleeting hours, when joys, too bright to last, 
Filled each dear heart that, round the homely hearth, 
Warmed with delight to see the other's mirth ! 
Grim-visaged Care groaned in the winds without, 
Nor marred the picture that affection wrought. 

19 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The arts refined, that wealth contrives for show — > 
We knew not these, nor ever wished to know. 
Nor Latin puns nor Grecian games we knew : 
For glowing thoughts electric language flew, 
While every thought an answering current found, 
And circling smiles with hearty glee went round, 
Happy to see a mother's care beguiled, 
And all most happy when our father smiled, 
To warm our hearts, we wanted not the fire 
Of Virgil's genius, nor of Ovid's lyre. 



''MORE light:' 

With little joy and much of woe. 
The flitting seasons come and go. 
While sinks the sun of hope so low 

I scarce can see 
Its light upon the distant shore. 

O blessed light, across the sea, 
Send once again thy rays to me ! 
Beam out upon my trackless way — 

I scarce can see, 
Amid the storm, thy cheering ray. 

The waves run high, dark is the hour 
O Watchman, from thy beacon tower, 
Thy lifeboat launch ; I sink, I fail ! 

I scarce can see 
Thy glimmering light, I am so frail. 
20 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Take courage, soul, fear thou no harm 
A cross looms upward o'er the storm, 
And one is walking on the wave — 

Look up and see — 
Who reaches forth his hand to save. 



MY JEWELS. 

These are they whom, in my youthful prime, 

I cherished with a pleasing care, 
Rejoicing fondly in the hope that Time 

Would crown their lives wi' fortune fair. 

With diligence I strove, and courage too. 

That, whatsoever else might come, 
Their hearts all pure and ever sweet and true. 

Their smiles should light and bless our home. 

They leaned upon me then, and in my smile 

Found that which made their young hearts glad : 

With sorrow drooped, and tearful eye, the while 
They saw me sorrowful or sad. 

They leaned on me. But now since years have flown. 

Of strength bereft, I on them lean. 
As onward toward life's evening horizon 

I gently go, with soul serene. 

The threshold of my cot, with careful skill, 

They guard, and by love's pleasing art 
Shut out the care — the soul-benumbing chill 

That else might touch and scathe my heart. 

21 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



Even crowns I may despise, and jewels fair; 

These but reflect a borrow^ed light : 
Mine have a light within, their own, most rare, 

God-given, that shines in darkest night. 



CAN I FORGET? 

Can I forget their tenderness, 
And shall my soul e'er cease to bless 
The hands that held, o'erflowing, free, 
Love's sparkling, foaming cup to me? 

Forget the smiles that, on life's way, 
With hope lit up the darkest day? 
Nay, nay; though far I wander yet. 
Their smiles nor tears will I forget. 



A VETERAN'S MUSINGS: AN OLD TREE. 

Upon the plain there stands an oak, 
Whose limbs, half lopped away, 

Have stood the blast of ruthless storms 
Through many a wintry day. 

Erst on his spreading branches grew 

A w^ealth of foliage green. 
And wood n}mphs often sported there. 

Beneath the shadowy screen. 

But as the years grew on apace 

And, one by one apart. 
The ruthless winds bore ofif his limbs. 

Age gan to chill his heart. 

22 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

His foliage gone, his breast left bare 

To Winter's icy blasts, 
With Summer's heat and sadding rain, 

Decay is hastening fast. 

But here a sturdy sapling stands, 

And here some others spring, 
Upon whose boughs young birdlings come 

And to the old tree sing. 

Their arms inclasp the wasted form. 

Their youthful fires impart 
Good cheer that sets the sap aflow 

And warms the aged heart. 



TREASURE, 

" For where ycur treasure is, there will your heart be also." 

In hearts that feel an answering pain 
My lightest griefs awake again 
Sweet sympathies, that might have slept 
While youth and joy gay revel kept. 

Though Time obtrude his misty screen 
Of years, and deserts spread between, 
Nor doubt nor fear shall vex my heart ; 
I cannot feel from these apart. 

So nigh in spirit they, when gone. 
The power of love shall linger on 
In lands remote, and on my brow 
I'll feel the touch that soothes me now. 
23 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

And I shall greet them oft again, 
Where'er, on sea or inland plain, 
Or here or there, my feet may rove — 
Space cannot part the souls that love. 

Warm fancy shall the winds outrace 
To catch the beam of Love's dear face ; 
Nor sea, nor mist, nor mountain high 
Shall hide the loved one from Love's eve. 



FOR YOU. 

Look up! The cross is raised on high, 

A beacon sure and true; 
Behold the Christ, the Saviour, die ! 

That cross was reared for you. 

For you, for you, a beacon forever. 
Shining forever for you. 

Lo, darkness veils, as with a shroud, 

The sky's ethereal blue ; 
Hark! 'tis the Lord, in anguish loud, 

" 'Tis finished,'' all for you. 

Th' atonement is complete for all, 

The veil is rent in two. 
The power of Love has pierced the pall. 

Love lights the way for you. 

Press onward now, nor longer grope, 
His hand will lead you through ; 

Beyond the gloom His star of hope 
Is shining still for you. 
24 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

TO MY NIECE, NANNIE. {Aged Five.) 

Little Nannie, gentle Nannie, 
Bright are all your smiles to-day, 

As your sober, earnest childhood 
Glideth sweetly on its way. 

Gentle-hearted little Nannie, 

When I hear your guileless tongue 

Prattling now, so sage and earnest 
For a child in years so young, 

Often think I of the sorrows 

Which the charms of youth dispel. 

And to Him my heart commends thee — 
Him who "doeth all things well." 

Loving Nannie, angels tend thee 
As thy childhood glides away, 

And may angels still defend thee 
When life's sorrows cloud thy way! 

May the innocence that lends thee 
Half the charms that deck thy brow 

Ever win thee earnest blessings, 
As it wins my blessing now ! 

F'ort Washita, Ind. T., 1859, 



BEREAVED. 

In our hearts we have hidden our sorrow. 
While we nerve us again for the strife 

That Cometh again with to-morrow — 
The old, old struggle of life. 
25 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

God help us ! The struggle's a hard one, 
And fain would we pause for a while, 

Till the tears of our anguish have fallen, 
Ere we turn to the world with a smile. 

But Fate hath not favored or blessed us 
With Fortune's beneficent smile ; 

Of our jewels her mandate bereft us, 
Her fiat remands us to toil. 

The winds of the desert are scorching, 
Our burden is heavy and sore, 

And we sigh for the rest that is promised. 
Where sorrow and death are no more. 



TREASURES IN HEAVEN. 

Where heavenly pastures spread their living green 
And waters still reflect a golden sheen. 
Where every breeze ambrosial incense bears 
And God's own hand shall wipe away all tears— 
Within the shadow of that tree which grows 
Hard by the stream that ever constant flows 
Out from Jehovah's throne, a crystal flood. 
Life-giving unto all that come to God — 
Our buds, earth-blighted, bloom in beauty now, 
Surpassing all that mortal life can know ; 
From grief, from pain, from all heart anguish free, 
Their souls enlarged with one great ecstasy. 
That beautifies all things above, l)elow. 
With the soft light of heaven's radiant glow. 

26 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Ah me, it were a fancy sweet to think 
That, while they bask upon the river's brink, 
Enraptured, scanning all the heavenly scene, 
Some ray of earth across their sight may gleam — 
That they may wish us there to share their bliss, 
Or sigh again to give the filial kiss : 
As one who lingers in some brilliant throng 
When gayety and gladness rule the hour, 
And finds that beauty, wit, and joyous song, 
To charm his soul, have lost their wonted power ; 
Because, amid the concourse gathered there, 
The one is wanting to his soul most dear. 

But thus to sigh is not for those who stand 
Amid celestial scenes, a white-robed band, 
Around the throne of Him whose glory gilds 
The walls of heaven, and all the distance fills ; 
And fills with ecstasy the wondering soul, 
That one drop more would break the crystal bowl. 

And yet, at moments when life's sky is dark. 
My spirit, sinking, overwhelmed with care. 
With anguish wrung, and when Hope's quivering ark 
Seems driving on a sea of keen despair, 
Their presence seemeth often strangely near, 
And hands unseen dry up the starting tear. 
While Spirit breathings move the silent air 
And to my soul unfold a region fair, 
Where God will to our longing arms restore 
Our precious ones, and we shall part no more. 

27 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

HELP ME, LEST I DRIFT AWAY. 

Whenever, in life's busy mart, 
Pursuits of gain engage my heart, 
Or aspirations move my soul 
To strive for any earthly goal, 
Lord, guide me, lest I go astray ; 
Help me, lest I drift av^^ay. 

If Fortune smiles and friends are kind. 
And o'er life's sea fair blows the wind, 
Let not my soul be touched with pride, 
But draw me nearer to thy side; 
Be thou my anchor, thou my stay; 
Help me, lest I drift away. 

If poverty my lot attend 
With grievous ills I cannot mend ; 
If friends, afloat on fortune's tide, 
Pass by me on the other side — 
Be thou my comfort and my stay; 
Help me, lest I drift away. 

Pour on my soul the oil of grace, 
Lend fire from thy holy place 
To warm this faltering, fearful heart ; 
Let me not drift from thee apart; 
O Lord, my Lord, be thou my stay ; 
Help me, lest I drift away. 

When stirs the heart with painful thrill, 
Shrinking from some threatened ill, 
While Mercy, veiled, seems yet afar, 
28 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

And hope my anxious fears debar, 
Give grace my fainting faith to stay ; 
Help me, lest I drift away. 

Whate'er my lot, whate'er betide, 
With Jesus let me still abide ; 
Safe in his love, however frail, 
Whate'er temptation shall assail, 
With trustful prayer, from day to day, 
I know I cannot drift away. 



THE WILLOW AND THE OAK. 

(Matt, xxiii. 13; v. 3-5; Rom. x. 13.) 

I SAW, when the winds swept over the mead, 
The willow that stands by the brook, 

Bending low as, with pitiless force, the storm 
Threw down the unbending oak. 

The storm had passed by, the willow uprose. 

Her branches in beauty outspread ; 
But the monarch of trees, in his pride cast down, 

Lay prone on the earth and dead. 

O Christian, look up, life's storms will soon pass; 

Rejoice, ye with sorrow low bowed; 
Our Lord in his hand holds the lightning shaft, 

His smile is behind the cloud. 

The mists and the gloom of the storm pass by ; 

Sit still and await on the Lord ; 
He heareth, he heedeth the voice of your cry ; 

Rest thou in the strength of his word. 
29 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

And thou, who art proud, O turn ye in time, 

Nor fall as the desolate tree; 
God's mercy, his infinite love, is thine, 

Awaiting, inviting thee. 



THE RIVER AND THE TREE. 

And on either side of the river was there the tree of life." (Rev. xxii. 2.) 

Is the path of life so rough and steep 
That you long for rest and the peaceful sleep. 
The promised rest, the journey o'er, 
And greetings sweet on the other shore? 

Beyond the mists essay your flight. 
For there is the land of glorious light, 
And the beautiful river is there, is there ; 
The tree and the river of life are there. 

See, just over yon mountain high, 
Shimmering on the upvaulted sky, 
The glow of the river's silvery sheen, 
The waters still and the pastures green. 

On, up the rugged and stormy height. 
On, on, though darker grow the night. 
Press on to the beautiful river of life. 
Eternal peace and rest from strife. 

Lay all your burden upon the Lord ; 
Anchor your soul upon his word; 
Believing, trusting every day, 
His loving hand will smooth the way. 
30 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

READY. 
" Be ye also ready." 

Ready ? Yes, ready and willing to go : 
Keep me, O Father, keep me so, 
By the strong support of thy wonderful grace 
By the holy light of thy kingly face, 

light my path, as it windeth low 
In ways of sorrow and human woe. 

And when the labor of life is done, 
When the weary race hath all been run, 
Then take me, O Father, into thy rest 
And crown thy pilgrim among the blest. 

Willing? Yes, willing to suffer and bear 

Toil and pain and all the care 

That thou, in thy wisdom, may command, 

Leaning, O Father, on thy right hand ; 

Meekly, through life's allotted years, 

Meeting the ills that time will bring. 

Till, ending the winter of sorrow and tears, 

1 sleep, and awake to eternal spring. 



A VETERAN'S FANCIES. 

At times I fancy that, not far away, 
Beyond a mystic river, I can see 

Fair hills illumed with more than golden ray 
And hear in air a heavenly symphony : 

Breezes soft, across the valley coming, 
Incense-laden. Daylight gently fading, 

V^esper spirits whisper in the gloaming, 
Ever unto rest and peace persuading. 
31 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

As evening shadows, creeping toward the west, 
Life's twilight mists now slowly round me gather, 

Night's myriad voices call my soul to rest, 

Whispering: "Weary pilgrim, strive no further. 

Rest from thy weary groping and the moil 

Of wearing thought. What matter if thy years 

Have brought thee less of triumph than of toil ? 
Or less of pleasure than of cause for tears ? 

The bivouac fires, upon yon heights ablaze, 
Mark well the way, as star-bestudded skies, 

Across the mystic vale, beyond life's maze. 
And there, behold ! the land of Beulah lies." 



TO FANNIE. 

What thought that with magical power shall enshrine 
A tribute of friendship, enduring and rare; 

What wreath can I weave that is meet to entwine 
A brow yet untouched by the finger of Care ? 

Were it cruel, O maiden, to whisper just now, 

While the path that you tread is with roses all 
strewn. 
What shadows may fall on that joy-lighted brow 
When the roses have withered and springtime hath 
flown ? 

Yet, believe me, 'tis well, while life's morn is shining. 
To think of the shadows that evening will bring — 

That when Care shall touch thee he bring no repining, 
Nor mingle remorse in the tears he shall wring. 
32 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The flowers that blush in the dews of the morning 
May wilt in the noontide's shimmering rays ; 

Yet their beauty, though brief, is the landscape's 
adorning, 
And the fragrance they yield is the incense of praise. 

And thus may thy life, all devoted to duty, 

As the flowers in sweetness, not like them to fade, 

Thy spirit unfolding all graces of beauty, 

Shed blessings along where thy pathway shall lead. 



OUT OF THE DEPTHS. 

(Psalm cxxx.) 

Out of the depths, O Lord, my God, 

I, helpless, cry to thee; 
Hear thou my humble, suppliant word 

And still attentive be. 

If thou, O Lord, should sternly mark 

The heart's iniquity, 
O who shall stand when troubles dark 

O'erhang life's stormy sea? 

But, that thou may'st be ever feared. 

Forgiveness is with thee; 
My soul waits for the living Lord ; 

Unto his word I flee. 

Far more than they that anxious watch 

For morning's rising hour. 
My waiting soul doth long to catch 

The spirit of his power. 
3 33 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Let Israel hope, my God, in thee, 

For thou hast mercy still; 
And plenteous grace, redemption free, 

Attend upon thy will. 

He shall from all iniquity 

Redeem his Israel's host, 
Give crowns of glory to the free, 

Salvation to the lost. 



THE FRUIT OF THE SPIRIT. 

(Gal. V. 22, 23.) 

[Suggested by a sermon of Rev, W. J. Stewart, pastor of the Centennial 
Baptist Church.] 

Spirit of God, thy fruit is Love, 

Rejoicing in the truth. 
It faileth not in hoary age; 

It glows in tender youth. 

In human hearts a holy joy 

Thy gracious planting yields, 
And peace divine, without alloy-, 

As flowers in sunny fields. 

Long-suffering, gentleness, and faith. 

Thy touch awakes to life; 
Suppresses envy, malice, wrath. 

And stills the mental strife. 

Goodness, meekness, temperance 
From thy sweet influence spring; 

Let Christians all their powers advance 
Thy worthy praise to sing. 
34 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

O, Holy Spirit, come this hour; 

Thy warming presence give; 
Let all hearts feel thy moving power 

Bide with us while we live. 



OLIVE. 

A MESSENGER from Paradise 

She came, enrobed in beauty rare. 

With light that shone from heavenly eyes, 
Commingling blessings with our care, 

And bearing, in her graceful mien, 
The sweetness of her native air. 

As some refreshing eastern breeze, 

O'er a parched desert sweeping. 
From far-off groves of orange trees. 

Unto a pilgrim, faint and weeping 
O'er hopes about to perish there, 
Long-cherished ending in despair, 
Brings back departing life to breathe 

The ambrosial incense, and to dream 
Of fields celestial, where the wreath 

Of ever-blooming flowers shall gleam 

Upon the brow of the redeemed ; 
So she, when sorrow's blasting power, 

Like desert sun with red heat glowing. 
Checked the bloom of Hope's young flower 

Within our hearts then freshly blowing — 
She came, like morn's refreshing dew. 
With heart so warm, with soul so true, 

Her verv presence spoke of heaven ; 
35 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

And hope revived, life's charms returned, 
All soul-depressing clouds were riven ; 
High aims, unto despair long given. 

By her inspired, with new life burned, 
And every one beheld life's sky, 
As painted on her soul-lit eye, 
Or there reflected, glorious bright, 
A prelude to the land of light. 

O gentle Virtue ! Most divine, 
Most wonderful her magic power ! 

Who feels her touch, in heart and mind, 
Is better from that happy hour. 

Her grace, her spirit, beauty charms 
Man's heart in most untoward mood. 

And every guileful thought disarms 
At once, and turns it into good. 

Virtue has fled ! Sustain us now, 
O Hope! Virtue has fled above. 

And we before Grief's altar bow, 
Uncharmed and unconsoled by Love. 

Our Father, thou alone canst know 

The anguish of our broken hearts. 
The while, submissively, we bow 

And kiss the afflicting hand that parts 
The ties that to our idol bound us, 
And wound their tendrils so around us 
That, in parting, life itself must part, 
Did Faith, in mercv, not sustain the heart. 

' 36 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

If human love could but restrain 

The happy spirit, as she flies, 
Or human sorrow call again 

Angelic beings from the skies, 
O, Olive, would'st'thou drop a tear 
For heaven, to share our sorrows here ? 
We would not have it thus, ah no ! 
Some waves of time's perpetual flow, 

Onward to the eternal sweeping, 
Soon will waft us to the shore. 

Where shall end our weary weeping. 
Sweet Olive ! In that happy clime, 
Our Father, in his own good time, 

'Mid heaven's radiant glories beaming, 
And amid the white-robed throng, 

In golden rays, translucent, gleaming, 
While they raise the heavenly song, 
Will there unto our arms restore 
Our sainted ones, and we shall part no more. 



DEAR HEART, 

Dear heart, that hath ceased to beat, 

Resting under the sod. 
The memories still are sweet 
Of the days thy tender feet 

O'er life's pathway trod. 

Dear eyes, that are closed in sleep, 

To wake beyond the sky : 
The vigils that we keep. 
The tears that Love doth weep, 

Seest thou from on high ? 

37 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Oft Love, Oppressed with care, 

Passing under the rod. 
Sighs to be with thee there. 
With the redeemed and fair. 
Safe at home with God. 



FOR MY NIECE'S ALBUM. 

Some years ago, dear Emma, 

When my heart knew not of care, 
And my soul, as thine, was buoyant, 

With hopes as bright and fair, 
I might have penned, dear Emma, 

In language passing fair, 
Some thoughts to please thy fancy 

And perhaps engage a tear. 

But since those days of gladness, 

When we gave our hearts to mirth, 
As we gathered there at evening. 

Around the blithesome hearth 
(Ah! hallowed is the memory 

That makes my being thrill 
As I pray that those around it 

Are blithe and happy still) — 

Since then Em somewhat changed 
And my thoughts seem now less free, 

And the hopes that are departed 
Have stolen the melody 

38 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

From the fairy visions floating 

On fancy's idle wing- 
Life's growing cares bear with them 

Full many a silent sting. 

Yet think not I've forgotten, 

Or that I shall cease to pray 
For the smiling little fairy 

Who threw flowers in my w^ay. 
May the light that beamed upon thee 

In childhood's happy years, 
When the frost of age comes o'er thee 

Still banish care and tears ! 

The light of love, dear Emma, 

Of confidence and truth, 
Of trust, that gives to innocence 

The cheerfulness of youth- 
May it hallow all thy pathway, 

And, when thy sun goes down, 
Illume with rays of promise 

Life's evening horizon! 



TO MY NIECE. 

I HAVE not wandered o'er the trackless main. 
Nor bent my footsteps unto foreign lands. 

And yet my pilgrimage, not all in vain, 

Hath brought me on o'er many barren strands^ 
And I have mused amid the desert sands 

And gazed indiff'rent over boundless plains. 

39 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I've marked the hunter, in deep soUtude, 

Pleasure pursuing in the exciting chase, 
And, wandering lonely in the silent wood. 
Observed the axman, as he pensive stood, 
And studied nature in his thoughtful face. 

I've stood with hundreds on the crowded quay, 

Where Expectation, tiptoe, looked around 
And scanned each trav'ler as he made his way 
Amid the thoughtful, careless, grave, and gay, 
If haply some friend returning might be found. 

I've stood in lighted halls where reign 

Hilarious Pleasure's smiling, flitting throngs, 
And dear Harmonia's sweet and thrilling strain 
Is trilled, as sweet as when o'er Eastern plain 
The harp of Judah swelled with Zion's songs. 

I've seen Ambition move the yielding crowd 

Of human things, that gaped to hear his words, 
And ride to power on the deep and loud 
Huzzas of creatures, whom, with sorrow bowed, 
He'd pass unnoticed, as inferior herds. 

Hast thou not listened to the man of God, 

Rapt and in wonder why the world should sin, 
And why mankind, in universal good, 
Should not combine, one endless brotherhood, 
And Peace o'er all the earth extend her reign ? 

And thus, dear Maxa, on the world's great stage 

Each actor plays an ever-varying part. 
As moved by passion, love or grief or rage, 
Or by ambition; each one has his page 
In the eternal history of the human heart. 
40 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

From all, my dear, that I have seen of man, 

In all the varying phases of his life, 
Not much of happiness within the span. 
Not much of glory or of lasting gain, 
Is found along the ways of ardent strife. 

Bless thou the world, and it thyself will bless, 

A maxim is, humane and true, I own ; 
But if the world hath aught of happiness, 
If aught to soothe a heart in sore distress, 
Thou'lt find it in the sacred realms of home. 

Camp Johnson, Va., January i8, 1S62. 



FOR MARY'S ALBUM. 

Sister, were there none to love me 

But thine own dear, faithful heart. 
None to heed with care my rovings 

In the world's distracting mart — 
This alone would be a treasure 

Rich beyond my highest claims, 
A light whose rays would ever guide me 

In the path of higher aims. 

Oft, when all is dark around me, 

Fairest hopes receding fast, 
There comes a spirit voice of cheering 

From the rosy, dreamy past; 
And sweet memories of childhood 

Once again reveal the star 
Of faith that led us gently heavenward, 

Ere we knew or dreamed of care. 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 1856. 
41 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

TO HENRY HOUSTON, FRIEND AND . 
COMRADE. 

Whatever fate hath written out for me, 
Whatever storms I meet on life's great sea. 
Whatever joys shall fill this heart of mine, 
May Heaven avert each storm that threatens thee, 
And joys as sweet, dear Houston, e'er be thine! 

If kindly fate, in years to come, should give 

To me with ease and quietude to live, 

My dearest joy, still burdened with a prayer, 

Would ask kind Heaven one pleasure more to share 

That thou, dear Houston, might be with me there. 

I pledge thee, then, in this fair cup of wine : 
Who thee befriends not is no friend of mine, 
And who shall help thee in thy hour of need 
Him Heaven help and fortune give Godspeed! 



EPISTLE TO MARY. 

[Written on a scrap of note paper, Dallas, Ga., iS6i.] 

Dear Cousin: 

I have, you'll perceive 
(Though it's nothing to grieve), 
Come to this sort of very short paper : 
Not that paper is scarce. 
But a thing rather worse. 
My ideas have all gone away far. 

For what with my chills. 
My drugs and my pills, 
42 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

My bitters and things stimulating, 

My mind, t'other night, 

Took such a high flight 
its return I'm still patiently waiting. 

So if you'll excuse me 

Nor pardon refuse me, 
I'll not try now to write you a letter. 

But wait till such time when. 

With less of ni}^ rhyme then, 
I may chance to have thoughts that are better. 

I wrote you last night, 

But when Emma, the bright, 
Just hinted my begging your pity, 

I took up that same 

And alighted a flame — 
An act which I think was more witty 

Than writing you this, 

Unless with a kiss 
You'll punish my silly trangression ; 

And if you've a mind 

To impose such a fine, 
My sins then shall all have confession. 

So now a good-by, 
Let me breathe, let me sigh, 
Or in some endearing way tell: 
I'm your cousin and friend 
Until life hath an end 
And the world knows no more of 

Your Beall. 
43 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

LOVE AND PLEASURE. 

Ere Melancholy, long ago, 

Had thrown her baleful shadow o'er me, 
My lithesome heart, exempt from woe, 

Saw none but joyous days before me. 

I lingered not with Beauty then. 

Nor prized her as a priceless treasure , 

I smiled at Love : "We'll meet again," 
I said, "when I have done with Pleasure. 

But Love, offended, flew away, 
And gentle Pleasure, now repining, 

At once withdrew her cheerful ray, 
No more upon my breast reclining ; 

Till strolling late beneath a grove, 

My heart absorbed in pensive sadness, 

A maiden met me, leading Love 

And Pleasure with her wonted gladness. 



THEN AND NOW. 

Mary, the song you sang to-night 
Breathes sweetly of the long ago, 

When, in life's rosy, morning light, 
We felt the flush of young love's glow. 

Quicker moved my heart's pulsation 

As the cadence of thy song. 
With memory's rich treasures freighted, 

Floated on the breeze along. 
44 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Sweet the sunlight on thy brow, 
StrolHng 'mong the roses fair 

A brighter halo crowns it now, 
Shaded o'er with loving care. 

Franklin, Ga. 



TO MARY. 

Mary, darling, wife o' mine, 
Mary of the dark blue eyne. 
Why those looks of sadness now ? 
Why that shade upon thy brow? 

Are all the hopes that once you cherished 
Gone, like summer friends, so soon? 

All thy youthful fancies perished, 
Like flowers beneath a hot simoon? 

Cheer up, darling, Mary mine. 
Lassie of the azure eyne, 
Hopes may fade and fancies die, 
But love will bloom eternally. 

The clouds so dark above thee glooming 
But prelude an April shower, 

And thy hopes all fair and blooming 
Shall revive with newborn power. 

Sweet, my darling, smile again ; 
I shall be most blessed of men 
When I no more vainly seek 
For the roses on thy cheek. 
45 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Amid the ecstatic scenes of heaven, 
That we may perfect bliss enjoy, 

The happiest hours that here are given 
Must still be mixed with some alloy. 

O then, dearest, look above, 

Heaven and earth were made for love. 

Love in joy, love in pain ; 

Look up, darling, smile again. 

Dallas, Ga., August 2, 1863. 



THE SOFTLY SPEAKING EYE. 

My love gied me a red, red rose, 

A red rose gied to me; 
But the gift was no so sweet as was 

The sparkle in his e'e. 

He stooped to place it in my hair; 

Though not a word said he, 
I read, wi' bosom throbbing sair, 

A message in his e'e. 

I felt my quickened pulses bound, 

Fain looked another way, 
Lest he might see the depths profound 

Within my heart that day. 

A thrilling, all-delicious pain 

Did my puir bosom swell; 
The message flashed to me was plain : 

"Dear lass, I love thee well." 

46 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

A warm handclasp, a kiss, a sigh, 
Love's passion may express, 

But best the softly speaking eye 
Tells love's deep tenderness. 



TIRED OF THE STRUGGLE. 

I WOULD that I were in some little isle, 

Far away from the conflicts of men, 
Forever to bask in my Mary's sweet smile, 

Nor return to the struggle again. 

My spirit is weary, and O how I long 

To fly with my darling away 
Where the light of her eye and the thrill of her song 

Would cheer me from day unto day ; 

Where, far from the world, with its sorrow and tears, 
My soul from her warfare should rest. 

And my spirit, refined by the glory of hers, 
Would thrill with the joys of the blest ! 

Atlanta, Ga., June 2, 1866. 



TO LITTLE MEG, {One Year Old.) 

O Meg, little Meg, what makes you so sweet, 
With dreamy blue eyes and tiny pink feet ? 
Is the world all so bright that it wakens your glee? 
(I wonder if ever it seemed so to me.) 
Perhaps if every one smiled and looked kind 
As they greet one another, even grandpa would find 

47 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

This world not so gloomy as sometimes it looks. 
And would not so often dream over his books. 
Pray tell me your secret, sweet little one, tell 
How 'tis you enjoy this old world so well — 
World dark to so many and bright to so few — 
Is't because we are old, or because you are new ? 

Does the halo around you just let in the light 
Of fairyland? Painting all things to your sight 
In silvery sheen, or in rose-colored hue, 
While cherubs peep out in tlie exquisite view? 
Or perhaps, on reflection, the silvery wing 
Of an angel, corrimissioned by Heaven's high King 
To guard you from evil, reflects from the sky 
The light that is beaming so bright in your eye. 

O, you sly little rogue, I see it all now : 

You've stolen from mamma that fairness of brow ; 

And the spirit that lurks down deep in the blue 

Of that exquisite eye, why, that was hers too. 

You've robbed Love himself of his dimple and smile 

(O, you needn't deny it — though that is the style). 

And the color you wear, you sly little thing, 

I saw it in May, when she led in the spring. 

It was spread on her cheeks — and her arms, I suppose, 

That very same lily, just mingled with rose ! 

But the lily and rose and the dimple and smile 
Are yours, little darling, yours without guile; 
And so let their beauties with innocence blend. 
Ever adding new grace, till thv journey shall end, 

48 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

THE SHELTER OF HOME. 

To the shelter of home, where my Eve in her beauty 

Allures by her smile at the close of the day, 
To rest from the toil and exactions of duty, 

In the softness of twilight, I hasten away. 
Let the world, with its frown and its censure, assail me ; 

Let Pride, with his cold eye averted, pass by : 
There's a comfort that warms, it never can fail me — 

'Tis the love light that shines in her soul-speaking 
eye. 



TO LUCY. 

O HEART that, by duty inspired, 

Shall with patience endure, fainting not 

If thy feet in the journey grow tired, 
Or pleasure or pain be thy lot — 

When the greeting that dear heart shall thrill, 

"Enter into thy heavenly rest," 
Heaven's echoes shall ring with the trill 

Of thy voice in the choir of the blest. 

Thy soul shall awake to the thrill 

Of a music unearthly and grand. 
And the yearnings that time cannot fill 

Will be answered in angel land. 

Sing on, then, and know as you sing 

The angels will sing unto thee. 
And the songs that in Paradise ring 

Are the rhapsodic shouts of the free, 
4 49 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Yes, the angels will sing to thee, dear, 
In the mansions of glory above ; 

With a rapture undreamed thou wilt hear, 
And the theme will be infinite love. 



TO MY NIECE. (ACROSTIC.) 

Justice slept within a cave. 

Out far removed from haunts of men ; 
Honor had not power to save. 

Nor Wisdom courage to defend ; 
'Neath Anarchy's dread, reckless reign. 

Intent on power. Ambition's mind 

Engendered strife with all mankind. 

Bright Fancy paled ; no longer free. 

Religion lost her wonted power, 
And all good angels wept to see 

Mad Frenzy rule the frantic hour ; 
Bold Passion held erratic sway. 

Lithe Labor bent in hopeless toil, 
Ending each successive day 

The home light brought nor rest nor smile. 

But Justice, waking, raised her wand ; 
Each enemy of virtue fled, 

And Peace and Pleasure, hand in hand. 
Low-laughing Beauty joyous led. 
Love laurels resting on her head. 
50 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

WHY THE MAIDEN SINGS. 

[To Miss Nobie T. Beall, Gordon, Ga.] 

I KNOW a maiden, winsome, fair, 
As light and happy and free as air ; 
And she is good and true and wise. 
And beautiful too, with lips and eyes — 
Like cherries the one, the other, why, they — 
Can't tell the color, but this I say : 
The mystery in their depths, to me. 
Is ever a marvel and sweet to see. 

All fancy-free is this maiden fair, 
And light her step as the evening air 
That moves the heads of the golden grain. 
When the sun is low beyond the plain ; 
And her voice is low and sweet and clear, 
As she talks to the breeze and the breeze to her; 
And the woods are glad, when wi' pail a-swing, 
She trips down the path to the shaded spring ; 
And they tell her their secrets, listening sly, 
While the babbling branch goes laughing by, 
And the toad on the bank just winks one eye 
And the goslings cease their unmusical row 
And Laertes greets her wi' solemn bow. 

So, one by one, as I wandered about, 
The trees and the breeze let her secrets out. 
The birds took it up and sang it amain. 
The corn blades rustled and told it again ; 
Until, on a night when Luna's pale light 

51 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Fell soft on the fields of waving corn 
(Such a comfort to lovers, lone and lorn), 
As I sat 'neath the bough of an apple tree, 
A cicada sang it aloud to me: 

"Have you seen," she said, "a maiden fair. 
With dreamy eyes and raven hair, 
Who wanders here when evening glints 
Enrich the clouds with purple tints ?" 

"Why, what is she to you?" I cried. 

"To me ? To me ?" she shrill replied ; 

And the shadows quivered, and tree boughs bowed, 

The moon withdrew behind a cloud. 

The stars laughed out away in the sky, 

As upward rang the quavering cry : 

"Why, she is my lover ; I have a part 
That all nature has in her tender heart; 
Butterfly, song bird, flower, and tree 
Have each a share in her sympathy: 
All that the hand of God hath made — 
The morning light, the evening shade, 
The twilight's calm, the storm sublime, 
The wind that sighs in yonder pine, 
The dove's soft coo in nesting time. 
The purling brook's low babbling song, 
Floods that in anger rush along, 
Sunny glade and shadowy dell. 
The snow-capped peak, the arid fell. 
And sluggish creek, that windeth low 
Through marshes where the swamp ferns grow; 

52 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The dashing torrent, that o'erleaps 
The crag and falls in foamy heaps, 
Or, broken in its dizzy way, 
Descending in a feathery spray, 
Steals from the sun his rainbow hues — 
All Nature's scenes, that wake the Muse 
To tuneful lays within the soul, 
Are hers. And so her sweet songs roll, 
And voice to sympathetic hearts 
What Nature unto her imparts." 
'Twas thus a cicada sang unto me 
Under the moon and the apple tree. 



ON RECEIVING SOME GEORGIA 
NEWSPAPERS. 

These flowers, thrown on my path by friendly hand, 
Have bloomed and blossomed in my native land. 
Sweet is the fragrance that to me they bring, 
And dear the song that to my heart they sing. 

I'll strew them round me, that their fairer parts 
May charm, enrich, and gladden other hearts. 
Their beauties stir, in other souls than mine, 
Thoughts that ennoble, elevate, refine. 

Go then, fair flowers, rich in truth and gladness, 
Go bloom in beauty, till fanatic madness, 
In admiration of thy fairer hue. 
Shall turn from its false life and seek the true. 

53 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

No fairer flowers have ever bloomed than these, 
Nor ever flowers have bloomed on nobler trees, 
Nor trees have flourished in a fairer clime ; 
Then flourish these until the end of time. 

Fort W^ashita, Ind. T., 1859. 



TO FRED W. REEDER, MY COMRADE AND 
FRIEND. 

If, when the evening of your life comes on, 

You lightly turn these fading leaflets o'er. 
Haply to think of pleasures that are gone, 

Heart-throbs which can return no more, no more. 
Wilt pause at this page, one moment pause. 

And, glancing backward over Life's dark sea, 
Forget Life's sorrows and their finite cause. 

And give one moment's thought to me? 

The years now passing, bearing from us away 

The genial fragrance of our youth, will seem 
The panorama of a distant day. 

The fancy painting of a summer's dream. 
If faithful memory unto friendship true 

Should then recall one thought into your mind 
Of traits that friendship hath exposed to view, 

In joy or grief, O let that thought be kind! 

None, none are perfect ; in the race of life 
Whatever good we may resolve or do. 

Follies and failures in the earnest strife. 
Poor human frailties still appear in view. 
54 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

We know our weakness, yet with self-deceit 
Unconscious follow what must still allure; 

Regret our follies, yet our lives repeat 
What sad experience still seems vain to cure. 

Who, then, shall learn with kindly hand to throw 

Oblivion's mantle o'er his fellow's sin, 
His generous heart, with charity aglow, 

Unmarking where a brother's faults begin ; 
Shall still enact the better part of man, 

Although unknown to fame ; to honor true, 
And to himself — this, this is Heaven's plan ; 

May Heaven commend it, Reeder, unto you! 

Fort Washita, Ind. T., 1859. 



CHARITY. 

"Inasmuch as ye have done it unLo one of the least of these." 

Of charity I sing, and all sweet charms. 
All gifts of service — whatsoe'er disarms 
Pain of its anguish, and the soul uplifts 
Into the light of Heaven's smile, through rifts 
Of burden clouds, that, since old time began. 
Have darkened so the heart of fallen man ; 
Of love, that findeth out a brother's grief 
And speeds the willing feet with quick relief, 
Pardons wrong in him that's led astray. 
And bids him seek the right, and shows the way. 
Or leads, with sweet seductive grace. 
The faltering one to follow in the race; 
As mother birds their nestlings lure to try. 
Until, though falling oft, they learn to fly. 

55 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

There is a time to lend the inspiring smile, 
To speak the cheering word, and so beguile 
The sinking heart of him who, bending low. 
Receives the shock of dire misfortune's blow. 

Sweet Charity, prime grace of human hearts, 
At thy approach grim Want, abashed, departs. 
And sad-eyed Pain looks up with patient smile. 
Sorrow forgets her weight of grief, the while 
Thy feet, upon Christ's errand, linger near. 
And Hope, reviving, triumphs over Fear. 
The wintry blast, the frost, the freezing sky 
All blend in warmth before thy melting eye; 
Even Crime into his secret den retires, 
Shamed by the love thy bounteous grace inspires. 

As Spring's soft air, by heavenly music stirred, 

A kindly deed, a sympathetic word, 

A friendly token, in love's spirit sent, 

A sunny smile, perchance by friendship lent, 

Oft proves more potent than Hygeian art, 

To heal the wounds that gall the burdened heart. 

God bless the heart that prompts the generous 

thought, 
And bless the deed in kindly feeling wrought. 
And every loving wile that charms away 
The doubts that hinder Love's triumphant sway ! 

56 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

CHRISTIAN CONFIDENCE. 

I KNOW that my Redeemer lives, 

And that my eyes shall see 
His glorious face ; his promise gives 

This precious faith to me. 

(Job xix. 25; Rev. xxii. 4.) 

I know that, when he shall appear, 

Like Him I then shall be; 
By love, that casteth out all fear, 

Made perfect, pure, and free. 

(i John iii. 2; iv. 18.) 

For I know whom I have believed, 

One able well to stay, 
And willing, though by sin aggrieved, 

My trust against that day. 

(2 Tim. i. 12.) 

I know that all things, by His grace, 

Together work for good 
To them, of every name and race. 

Who love the living Lord. 

(Rom. viii. 28.) 

I know I've passed from death to life, 

Because his saints I love; 
This rugged way leads up through strife 

To peace and rest above. 

(i John iii. 14; Rev. vii. 14.) 

57 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I know that when this house shall fail 

I have a building grand 
In heaven, where no storms assail, 

Not made by mortal hand. 

(2 Cor. V. I.) 



TO A YOUNG POET-LAWYER. 

You have girded on your armor 
For the conflict with the world; 

In the heated race for honor 

You have joined the giddy whirl. 

Once the Muses' smiles you courted, 
And they gave thee visions bright, 

Gleamed a realm of heavenly poesy 
On thy youthful, ardent sight. 

Then thy soul, with music thrilling. 
Sang her paeans to truth and worth, 

And, with skillful touch, thy fingers 
Waked the notes of love and mirth. 

Thy soul, discerning in the distance 
Fame, with fair, inviting mien, 

Hope unveiling all the future 
Clad in radiant, silvery sheen — 

Now, with heart and brain inspired. 
With the goal of wealth before, 

Wielding with ambitious daring 
Sv/ord and spear of legal lore. 
58 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

In the worldly, fiery combat 

All opposing forces part 
'Fore the high determined valor 

Of the strong, unfaltering heart. 

Does thy soul grow weary ever 

Of the everlasting strife ? 
Turns the tired heart, with longing. 

To a better, peaceful life? 

Does the bitter, ceaseless wrangling 
Fill thy soul with strong disgust? 

Comes a sick'ning sadness o'er thee 
With decay of youthful trust? 

Dost thou find, of patriots, many 
False in heart and false in sense, 

Skilled in popular palaver. 

Their moral gauge expedience? 

Battle on, all wrong condemning. 
Right maintain, with courage bold, 

Fighting hard brings clear discerning 
Of the dross and of the gold. 

Tune thy harp to notes of gladness, 
Unto Truth loud paeans raise; 

To despair is only madness; 

Hope is power and length of days. 
59 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



THE ONION, 



If you desire the Muses to dispel 
And drive them from a rival poet's cell, 
But just secrete an onion there, and while 
It there remains they will refuse to smile. 
He may invoke and vow, but all in vain ; 
This odious plant will quench his every flame. 

The very name itself 's enough to fright 
The liveliest fancy from sublimest height; 
From contemplation of the sweetest flower, 
To all that's bitter, shapeless, all that's sour. 

*'Sour! Avaunt!" our scanning critic cries, 
But tears unwary fill the critic's eyes, 
And as he scans the hapless piece at length. 
He feels the pungent subject's potent strength 
Forgets, what else to all so plain would seem. 
That words are chosen suited to the theme. 

There are two things — I grant them no excuse 
For which this plant may serve a potent use; 
The one (here, critic, ply again your lash) 
To save mine hostess' well-compounded hash ; 
For, as a man will slander not his taste. 
It needs but this ingredient to last. 

The second use to which the "yarb" applies, 
A use that brainless dandies well may prize, 
Is this: it gives one, in the best society. 
What many like, a famous notoriety. 

60 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Just take enough to season well a dish 
Of ham or eggs, or, if you like it, fish ; 
Walk in, no matter where nor how you sit. 
Nor even strive to show yourself a wit — 
Even though you take the humblest seat about, 
Your faithful servant soon will mark you out 
You'll be conspicuous, as you well deserve, 
And all observers will yourself observe. 

If ''Distance lends enchantment to the view," 
'Tis hoped enchantment will be lent to you. 



A VETERAN'S MUSINGS. 

The honeysuckle in the glen 

Is blooming sweet and wild. 
The sweet shrub yields its rich perfume 

As when I was a child. 

The flitting clouds upon the fields 

Fantastic shadows throw, 
Where touch-me-nots and dewdrops spring 

And wild dewberries grow. 

Contented kine browse on the knoll 

And in the lower glade, 
Where bloom the wild forget-me-nots, 

Or, listless, seek the shade. 

The laughing brooklet, from the spring, 

Comes down in sportive song. 
Or sleeps in pools, or through the glade 

Dances its way along. 
6i 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I hear them talk of summer sport, 
Of horse and dog and gun; 

Of trout that flashes in the brook, 
Of rolhcking and fun. 

But what, O youth, are all thy sports? 

What, nature, is thy rest. 
To him whose summer brings no rose. 

His autumn still unblessed? 

October's chill presages now 
Life's winter, cold and drear; 

The shrinking form, the pulse-beat low, 
Heart quivering, as with fear. 

Aye, quivering, but it falters not ; 

Sweet faith, with gentle mien. 
Unfolds to view elysian plains 

Aglow in summer sheen. 

Beyond the changing shores of time 

An endless simimer lies; 
Who feels but thorns on earth may find 

The roses in the skies. 

Birmingham, Ala. 



MOONLIGHT MUSINGS, 

[As we lose interest in the present and grow tired of life's burdens, Mem- 
ory presents rosy pictures of the past, while Hope consoles us w^th visions of 
a fair haven of eternal rest.] 

Memory teems with scenes of gladness. 

As the rippling of a rill 
Steals upon my waking senses 

In the moonlight's holy still. 
62 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Sweet the pleasure-laden hours 

Of the sunny days long gone, 
Bright the skies, and fair the flowers 

That clustered round thee, dear old home. 

But a shadow, thwart my vision 
Of the past, comes flitting o'er; 

'Tis the thought that youthful pleasure, 
Once departed, comes no more. 

Cares upon the heart are pressing. 

Bending low the feeble frame, 
Strength and youth no more possessing, 

Nor ambition's ardent flame. 

O the pain of life's long battle ! 

O the heaving, restless tide, 
Sweeping on, we know not whither, 

While we sigh for peace denied ! 

Hark! A whisper, low and tender. 
Gently on the night breeze comes ; 

"There remaineth," God hath said it. 
To the faithful, rest and home. 



CHRISTMAS. 

Again we greet thee, hallowed Christmas day, 
Another milepost on old Time's highway. 

A weary way, but why turn back to see 
The thorny maze through which our paths have led? 

Let those look back who will ; it seems to me 

63 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

More wise to ''let the dead past bury its dead," 
Nor view the past with aught of vain regret; 
The night comes not until the sun has set. 

Thus far upon the journey we have come, 

And life and love and joy yet survive; 
The future is before; what though, to some, 

Dire anguish it may bring ? To all who live 
Remains the dear prerogative of hope; 
We have the eternal now, and need not grope 

For what is hid behind the veiling clouds ; 
Peace lurks in lower vales, life is most fair 

In safe seclusion, far from striving crowds 
Where Hope lies bleeding, stricken by despair. 

To-day lift up the fallen, give good cheer 
To him whose sorrow marks the dying year, 
Recalling how, as shepherds watched by night, 

Behold, a heavenly glory round them shone; 
An angel, pausing in his aerial flight. 

Proclaimed the glorious news — a Saviour born. 

What marvel if the vaulted sky was riven. 
And hallelujahs filled the courts of heaven? 
Glory to God most high, good will to man ! — 
'Twas thus the blest annunciation ran. 

Ye murmurings of Earth at day's decease. 

Ye breezes soft, from out the deep'ning shade^ 

Proclaim again the day, bright day of peace. 
And let its spirit all the earth pervade. 

64 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

THE DYING YEAR. 

The year is dying. Let its wrongs 
Be buried with the vanished throngs 
That sleep entombed with centuries past, 
To rise no more until the last 
Of all the race of years shall lie 
Pulseless 'neath the melting sky. 

Forgotten be thy tears, dead year! 

Oft wrongs have come and needless fear, 

And oft suspicion, dark and dire, 

Hath thrust his green, envenomed fire 

Into the sacred heart of love. 

There is no spot where man may rove 

But these have had their place and power ; 

The centuries never nursed an hour 

That sped it on at such a pace 

That wrongs found not their time and place 

To mar our peace. If 'twere not so, 

If life were all exempt from woe. 

If perfect peace should crown each year 

And perfect love cast out all fear, 

This earth would be so fair that even 

The soul might cease to sigh for heaven. 



HAPPY NEW YEAR TO ALL. 

With many sweet dreams of a day that is past, 
O let no repining our spirits enthrall ; 

Discontentment avv^ay — to the winds be it cast, 
x\s we cheerilv wish happv New Year to all. 
5 ■ 6s 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The years of our pilgrimage soon will be o'er ; 

Then let us now only their pleasures recall, 
Though to us they may come with their brightness 
no more, 

While we heartily wish happy New Year to all. 

Many loved and departed we cannot forget; 

But our love and our duty, whatever befall, 
Let us give to the friends who are left to us yet. 

And hopefully wish happy New Year to all. 

Let Faith to our sight all the glories unfold 

Of that beautiful land where no fear shall appall — 

Whose light is a throne in a city of gold — 

And our wish be a prayer — happy New Year to all. 



LOSS AND GAIN. 

What have the silent years deprived me of, 
Momentous, hopeful years, so swiftly fled? 

What aspirations, fancies, dreams that move, 
Uplift and thrill the ardent soul, lie dead? 

I would have won the plaudits of good men, 
And aimed at heights sublime in word and deed, 

All knowledge seeking, given to human ken, 
The world uplifting, knowing sect nor creed. 

Ah, soon, too soon, youth's visions, grand and fair, 
Dissolve in gathering mist. The passing years. 

Aglow, but now, with fancies sweet and rare, 
Baptized my too ambitious dream in tears. 
66 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

What have ye brought to me, O silent years, 
With all your toil and care, so fleetly sped ? 

What recompense give ye for bitter tears, 
Hopes unfulfilled and aspirations dead? 

The vanished years this miracle have wrought: 
That what I thought most dire and sore defeat 

Hath victory become; aspiring thought 

At length perceives all loss with gain replete. 

For, what I thought misfortunes, what were they 
But barriers, in the path I would have trod, 

That turned my footsteps in another way, 

Where, groping, I have found the peace of God? 

A steadfast hope, from keen heart anguish wrung, 
Grand visions, for youth's glowing fancies flown, 

New songs, for strains aspiring hope had sung. 
And biding peace the passing days to crown. 



THE SPRING. 

When life was fair and hope was young, 

To hear the oriole sing his lay. 

To dream the rosy hours away 

Where lowland fern luxurious sprung, 

I often rested by a spring, 

And oft essayed myself to sing 

The beauties in its depths concealed. 

But to my dreaming soul revealed. 

Of flitting shadows, sky serene. 

And arching trees, whose mantling green 

Threw shimmering colors o'er the scene. 

67 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

When years had passed, and on their way 

Had sprinkled well my locks with gray, 

I, wandering to the spot again, 

Looked for my spring, but looked in vain. 

Before me stretched a field of sand, 

As treeless as a tide-beat strand ; 

No beds of fern, no grateful shade, 

No matin song or serenade 

Of warblers vocalized the air; 

Gone every charm that made so fair 

The scene when youth sat dreaming there. 

Now, glancing backward o'er life's track, 
The way seemed long, and stretching back 
O'er valleys broad and mountains high, 
And yet so swift the flight of years. 
My dreaming by the spring seemed nigh; 
I scarce could realize that tears 
Had come between the then and now. 
Though wrinkles, lined upon my brow, 
Marked traces of much painful thought 
And change in me that time had wrought, 
While changing thus this valley scene, 
Whose yellow sands replaced the green 
Within whose shades youth found repose 
And painted life coiileur de rose. 

Again, when other years had gone, 
When hopes that I had fondly cherished. 
In the flush of manhood's dawn. 
Had like my ferns and flowers perished, 
68 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Aweary of the city life, 

The whir of traffic and the strife, 

I sought the hills, where boyhood's ways, 

"Adown the stairs of yesterdays," 

Oft come to light the heart of age 

And cheer him in his pilgrimage ; 

And, wandering there in pensive mood, 

Near where my father's cot had stood, 

Quite careless where my footsteps drew. 

Scarce conscious of the birds that flew 

Up in my path, with whirring wing, 

I came upon my dear old spring. 

There at my feet it bubbled free, 
Reflecting neither flower nor tree; 
Along the vale its waters run. 
Dancing, sparkling in the sun. 
And, joining near a larger brook. 
Their way, with many windings, took 
Onward toward the valley wide 
Where the forest shadows bide. 

While all the space around was bare. 
The rocks my father placed were there. 
Walling in the crystal flood. 
As when, in childhood's days I stood 
Upon its brink, and thought the sky. 
Reflected there, was not so high. 

To him who bides with Nature long 
And listens to her magic song — 
Who loves her c[uiet, restful mood. 
That sweetly leads his thought to God, 

69 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

While whisperings, Hke breath of prayer, 
Pervade and move the ambient air — 
To him she opens wide her page, 
Aglow with beauties that engage, 
Richer than the gems of Ind 
In all that elevates the mind. 
And so a lesson from my spring, 
A thought, its purling waters bring. 
When life's young, roseate days are fair. 
About his child, with rock of prayer. 
Cemented with sweet mother love, 
More holy than the nesting dove 
Unto her tender fledgeling gives — 
A love that, when the evening gilds 
The western slope of life, survives — 
A wall the Christian father builds. 
That guards within the loved one's heart 
A heavenly germ, of life a part. 

Though Sin wild desolation spread 
Along the plain of life, good seed 
Implanted in the fruitful soil 
Of mind held not within the coil 
Of Sin's polluting, foul embrace 
Will perish not; but, by his grace. 
When God shall send his husbandman, 
Obedient to his gracious plan, 
And in his own good time, to break 
The earth crust through with Spirit share, 
And touch the germ abiding there. 
That germ to light shall quickly wake; 
70 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The fountain, buried long, shall spring, 
And, bubbling forth a living thing, 
Exalted by the Spirit's power. 
Flow sweetly onward from that hour. 
The Lord forgetteth not his own, 
Nor anv seed that he hath sown. 



THE SOUTH IN ANTE-BELLUM DAYS. 

Mid wood-crowned hills and on the mountain side. 
And in fair vales, where crystal waters glide, 
Where cooling zephyrs temper summer's heat. 
And virgin forests give a safe retreat 
From winter's blasts, the Southron dwelt secure; 
And whether, hid within some glen obscure, 
His home were but a cabin, simple, rude, 
Or, not more dear but more pretentious, stood 
In some broad vale or on some shaded hill, 
There Nature's myriad voices came to fill 
His soul and lift it up in grateful praise 
For peace and plenty crowning all his days. 

Content, remote from trade's distracting mart, 
Her secrets Nature opened to his heart ; 
At night her voices lulled him to repose. 
And when at dawn he from his couch arose, 
On healthy breezes, o'er the valley borne. 
Came cheery greetings in the rustling corn. 

In cribs unlocked, in bin and barn unbarred. 
The bounteous fruits of willing toil were stored ; 
And in his house — his father's house before — 
He slept, serene, with wide, inviting door, 

71 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

From which no stranger ever turned away ; 
The broad hearth blazed with more enHv'ning ray 
If but a neighbor shared its cheering light, 
Or stranger called for shelter overnight. 

Around him grew his sons, a sturdy band, 
Who, freedom loving, loved their native land. 
They tilled the soil, nor was their toil severe. 
Nor leisure wanting in their humble sphere, 
To snatch from labor many a pleasing pause 
For contemplation deep of Nature's laws, 
Of objects that ennoble heart and mind. 
Enlarge the soul and elevate mankind. 

Nor was there wanting manly sport and fun : 
Oft they wrestled, oft the race was run, 
That makes the sinews strong, the footstep sure. 
And fits the body hardship to endure. 
With sturdy arm their axes oft they slung 
And, with loud crash, that through the forest rung, 
They felled the lofty pine or monarch oak ; 
And oft their horns the morning echoes woke. 
That called the baying hounds unto the chase. 
The wild halloo, the spirit-stirring race. 
Along his secret paths, through glade and wood. 
The nimble deer they oft in stealth pursued. 
Or, bounding over hills with horse and hound. 
With deadly aim the antlered buck brought down. 
Nor these alone pursued their even way. 
Their country's hope and freedom's surest stay; 
Where broad rivers pour their currents strong, 
And spreading vales, their sinuous course along, 

72 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Sleep in the sun's warm glow ; where golden grain 
And fleecy cotton clothe the fertile plain — 
There thousands, who had never bent to toil, 
Nor mingled in the market's wearing moil. 
Among their colored servants dwelt in peace. 

The master, joying in the year's increase. 

Made glad the hearts of those who served him well 

And if misfortune on the land befell, 

The servant, knowing neither want nor fear, 

Rang out his songs as when a prosperous year 

Filled all the bins ; if there were grievous loss, 

In sympathy he sighed, "Poor mas', poor mas'," 

And went his way, still loyal to the core, 

And sang his songs as gayly as before. 

He faithful served. The master's gentle sway 
Was firm, though kind, in patriarchal way. 
And, notwithstanding certain poets' cant, 
Severe alone on the recalcitrant. 
Assured he was through life, at every stage, 
In helpless infancy, in tottering age, 
Of kindly care, of shelter, warmth, and food, 
Dependent on no overseer's mood; 
And medicines he had, physician's ^skill. 
And nursing, when it chanced that he was ill; 
All things sufficient for his daily need — 
For loyal service his unfailing meed — 
The master gave, and gave with princely hand. 
And who withheld, in all this Southern land. 
Supplies essential, whatsoe'er his fame. 
Fell under ban of public scorn and shame. 

7Z 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The burdens heavy, sore, that labor bears 

In every other land — the care that wears 

The soul — touched not the negro's careless heart ; 

Contented, peaceful, acting well his part. 

All history shows, in all recorded time. 

No laboring class so little stained by crime ; 

Sheltered in age, his master's ward at birth. 

The happiest laborer on this teeming earth ! 

O happy South ! Thy people, watchful, true, 
The higher ends of statehood kept in view, 
And, seeking ever just and equal right. 
High prizes held for men who led the fight, 
Inspired with honest, patriotic zeal. 
Against all wrong and for the public weal. 
O happy South ! Thine was a righteous sway, 
Justice the balance holding, day by day. 
With gentle Mercy smiling at her side. 
Wisdom directing, Heaven-inspired guide. 
Protecting all, yet leaving each one free 
In his own way to seek prosperity, 
Conditioned only that he injure none, 
Live honestly, and unto every one 
His rightful dues in truth and justice pay, 
Even as decreed in great Justinian's day. 

A people thus protected want no more ; 
All State paternalism leaves the shore 
Of safety, venturing forth, with rotten sail, 
On seas where treacherous squalls of "graft" prevail. 
Supported by a pure constituency — 
Of faithful service, surest guarantee — 

74 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Thy statesmen history numbers with the great, 
Whose guerdon was the glory of the State, 
A people happy, prosperous, content, 
Who ne'er, for favor, unto power bent. 

Night's mantle gently falls upon the earth ; 
Now toilers gather round the blithesome hearth ; 
With smiles the housewife greets her loving lord 
And lights his heart with many a cheering word ; 
The sons attend, with reverential care. 
The daughters come, with charming, modest mien, 
And, all united, all together share 
And make at once this earth's most lovely scene. 
All over this dear Southern land of ours, 
Grand in her people's worth as fair in flowers. 
In mansion and in cot such scenes are found — 
In rural homes, whose dwellers till the ground; 
In urban place, where toilers in the mart 
Find rest and solace for the troubled heart. 

75 



PART II. 

ON THE FRONTIER [N ANTE-BELLUM DAYS. 



During the last four decades our literature has been so 
aglow with the marvelous in military adventure and event 
that I have felt no little hesitation about putting before the 
reading public a work relating to army life and yet not de- 
pending, for its chief interest, on thrilling narration of mar- 
tial achievements or heroic daring or the clash of arms. But 
after all we are a peace-loving people, and I cannot doubt 
that in the minds of Americans, and especially of American 
youth, much interest attaches to the daily life of the Amer- 
ican soldier, even in times of peace. These sketches, how- 
ever, while designed to show the enlisted man in garrison, 
in camp, and on the march, with sufficient minuteness of 
detail to interest the student of character, will, if I have 
not through want of skill failed in the proper use of my mate- 
rials, be found not altogether wanting in the spice of adven- 
ture and a variety of incident pleasing to the general reader. 



ENLISTMENT. 

In the year 1855 I enlisted in the army of the 
United States as a common soldier. I think I was 
moved to this rash act by a morbid despondence in- 
duced by chronic indigestion. My family had fondly 
indulged for me hopes of a higher destiny. My fa- 
ther, who had been a soldier of the war of 1812-15, 
and subsequently Assistant Adjutant General of the 
State, and who had been a devout and faithful ex- 
emplar of the Christian virtues, was at rest in the 
old graveyard, where the dust of his father also awaits 
the resurrection. My mother still lingered, awaiting 
the summons of Him in whom she trusted, bearing 
patiently life's burdens, fulfilling its duties in love. I 
had been, from childhood, of extremely delicate con- 
stitution. It is therefore not a matter of surprise that 
she was afflicted in the last degree upon hearing of 
the rash step I had taken. There is ever in the 
mother heart something that binds her most strongly 
to the feeblest of her offspring, as if nature would in 
this way compensate the child of affliction for having 
been denied the blessing of a robust constitution. I 
shall never forget the expression of indescribable 
anguish with which my mother embraced me on my 
return on a short leave of absence from the recruit- 
ing station : ''O my son, what have we done to you, 
that you have enlisted in the army ?" 

At that moment I would have given all I hoped 

79 



IN BARRACK AND FIE!Ld. 

for, and suffered all I feared, to have my enlistment 
canceled. But I had gone too far; and she, with the 
habitual submission of a mind axcustomed to seek of 
Heaven comfort in every trouble, consolation in every 
sorrow, became ere the day of parting in some degree 
reconciled to my going. 

Habitual trust in the goodness and mercy of a high- 
er power has been to me, from a very early period of 
my life, a most pleasing subject for reflection. There 
is a beauty, a sublimity in Christian resignation which 
no mere human philosophy can approach. He that, 
under the pressure of great affliction, when the heart 
is wrung with anguish and the mind bewildered with 
its weight of care, can say earnestly, truthfully, and 
trustfully, "Not my will, but thine, be done," though 
not able to trium.ph over life's ills, may ever summon 
to his aid fortitude to bear them with equanimity. 
Such was the sublime trust, such the childlike sub- 
mission, of the mother whose heart I had so sorely 
wounded. 

At the expiration of my leave of absence I re- 
turned to the recruiting station, accompanied by two 
young friends who were going to enlist. 

Wayside Hospitality. 

On the way we stopped at a place about a mile 
south of the Chattahoochee River and bargained with 
the proprietor for dinner — ^bargained because, having 
but a small sum among us, it was necessary to know 
before dining that the charges would not exceed our 
cash assets. We had not long to wait; and having 
brushed the dust from our clothes as well as we could. 

So 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

and bathed face and hands, we were conducted across 
the back yard to a cabin, and sat down to a dinner 
of which the best that can be said is that it took off 
the edge of the appetite of three very hungry boys. 

After dining we sat down to rest in the open pas- 
sage of the dwelHng. Our host was curious to know 
our destination and all about us. Being told that we 
were to join the United States cavalry for service on 
the frontier, and would probably go first to Kansas, 
he became much interested, and requested me to write 
and send him a full description of the country, its 
resources, character of soil, climate, etc., all of which 
I promised to do. 

Near the rear end of the passage where we sat 
there stood a large hogshead, around which bees were 
buzzing and from which there came a very pleasant 
flavor. One of my comrades casually remarked: "It 
seems to me like I smell cider." 

Our host was apparently too much absorbed in vi- 
sions of Kansas to notice this remark. But my young 
comrade had his lip set for cider. His throat was 
evidently dry, so he ventured this further remark: 
"Mr. G — , is that cider in that barrel ?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, I'd like to try a glass." 

Upon this our host brought a pitcher and glasses, 
and filled one for each of us. When I had paid for 
the dinner and we were about going, my' comrades 
being already out of the gate, something in the manner 
of the man impelled me to ask what he charged for 
the cider, and to my surprise his reply was : "Five 
cents a glass." As I paid the bill I mentally revoked 
6 8i 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



my promise to write the coveted description of Kan- 
sas. 

How much to be pitied is he whose love for money 
is so inordinate that he can never enjoy doing a gen- 
erous or benevolent action! But to judge a com- 
munity by one individual would be a great mistake. 
In the little city of Newnan, only a few miles away, 
in a little circle of ladies and gentlemen, upon whom 
I had no claim except that I was my father's son, I 
met with a kindness — a generous sympathy — that 
could not fail to prompt in an ingenuous mind resolu- 
tions to be worthy of it. 

Nothing of special interest occurred while we re- 
mained at the recruiting station. There was the usual 
amount of drilling and routine duty, which, being 
novel, was not at all irksome. There was at first 
some fighting among the men; but as it was made a 
rule, when two men quarreled, to form a ring and 
let them fight it out, the most boisterous fellows soon 
learned to curb their tempers. There is a great deal 
of moral suasion in a fair fight. 



EN ROUTE TO THE RENDEZVOUS. 

In the month of July, 1855, we boarded the cars 
and commenced the journey westward, Fort Leaven- 
worth, Kans., having been designated as the ren- 
dezvous of the regiment. The route was by rail, via 
Atlanta and Chattanooga to Nashville, and thence 
down the Cumberland and Ohio Rivers and up the 
Mississippi and the Missouri. 

82 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Memory lingers on the voyage down the Cumber- 
land with an interest which I despair of communica- 
ting to the reader. Captain Anderson had contracted 
with the owner of the little steamer, Alida, to con- 
vey the company to Jefferson Barracks, Mo. We 
had cabin passage, and the fare was good. It was 
my first experience in traveling by water, and I found 
the transition from the jar and rattle of the cars to 
the easy gliding of our little boat most agreeable. We 
had among us a choice spirit, gifted with the faculty 
of song, and his melodies, ringing out over the rippling 
waters on a moonlit night, threw an additional charm 
over the scene. His selection of pieces was such as 
to indicate a mind which, however fallen now, had 
been subject to refining influences. 

On one of those rarely bright nights that clothe our 
river scenery in almost magic beauty, as I observed 
this singular man seated on deck, an expression of 
profound melancholy resting in his dark eyes, varied 
by a deeper or a lighter shade as the sentiment of his 
song happened to be plaintive or pathetic, I was moved 
with a desire to know something of his past life. 
Alas! I little thought how soon for him the hard 
campaign of life would end. 

f 
A Somewhat Painful Scene. 

One day, as we glided along the Cumberland, 
Lieutenant C — informed me that the Orderly had 
made an error in his morning report, and directed me 
to find and correct it. Having done so, I knocked at the 
door of the Lieutenant's stateroom, and, at his bidding, 
entered. I found him reclining on a low berth, a 

83 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

chair at his side. That he might conveniently look 
over the report book, I seated myself in the chair 
and began to point out what I supposed the error to 
consist in. 

''Never mind, Sergeant." 

He had interrupted me in the midst of my explana- 
tion, and I did not immediately cease. 

"I tell you I do not want to hear it, sir." 

This was said fretfully, and with a decided em- 
phasis. I looked up in surprise. He turned his head, 
evidently to avoid my look. I got up, shut my book, 
and left the room. It was no part of my business 
to look after the morning report. I had naturally ex- 
pected some commendation of my cleverness in find- 
ing out the error so easily, and now to be snubbed in 
this way — well, it was cutting. It was some months 
later that I learned that the "head and front of my 
offending" consisted in taking a seat in the presence 
of an officer. 

Had the lieutenant availed himself of this occasion, 
after kindly attending to what I had to say, to say to 
me, "Sergeant, the general ideas of military life which 
you have gotten from your father, or from books, are, 
in the main, correct ; but there are many minor details 
in the regular service with which it cannot be expected 
that you are acquainted, and which may cause you 
some embarrassment. Upon one point, particularly, it 
is necessary that you should be posted, and that is, that 
the discipline or etiquette of the army does not allow 
of enlisted men sitting in the presence of officers un- 
less specially invited to do so. Nor should this cir- 
cumstance be regarded either as honoring to the offj' 

84 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

cer or degrading to the soldier ; it is merely a part of 
a system which the experience of mankind has proved 
to be essential to subordination" — if, I say, he had 
thus spoken on this occasion, he would have had my 
thanks and saved me a little mortification subse- 
quently. 



A CASE OF CHOLERA. 

One morning one of the men, Campbell by name, 
was reported sick. That it was no ordinary case was 
evident from the air of seriousness with which the 
officers walked to and fro in the cabin, holding occa- 
sional consultations. We had several cases of sick- 
ness on board, but none of them had excited any 
alarm. As it began to be rumored that there was a 
case of that terrible scourge, cholera, and the men 
were ordered to remain in their staterooms or on the 
upper deck, and especially not to go aft where Camp- 
bell lay under an awning, the whole company, as if 
every heart had been seized with some great sorrow 
or the dread of some impending calamity, became sud- 
denly subdued and serious, the merriest and most noisy 
moving about in a listless manner, with the deepest 
anxiety depicted in their countenances. 

Campbell and I were of the same county, and, 
though I had not been acquainted with him, I re- 
quested and obtained permission to see him. As I 
stood by the dying man my imagination wandered to 
the home which he had left so short a time since in 
the full bloom and confidence of manhood, and drew 
a picture of the little circle in which his departure 

85 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

had left a vacancy never to be filled. How the fond 
mother's heart will bleed when informed that her son, 
for whose return she daily prays, his campaign of life 
so early closed, has taken up his final bivouac on the 
shore of the Ohio ! 

Five years afterwards I met his parents. They had 
not yet been certainly informed of his death, and still 
cherished hopes of his return. It was painful to 
dispel the fond delusion, and I perceived that they 
strove to convince themselves, with what success I 
could not tell, that I was mistaken as to his identity. 

Our little steamer floated easily enough down the 
Ohio, but when she began to breast the mighty cur- 
rent of the "Father of Waters" she seemed to quiver 
at every stroke of the paddles. We began to ascend 
this river about dark, and rounded to at the landing 
about three miles below Jefferson Barracks about our 
usual breakfast hour. Through a misunderstanding 
( ?) between our captain and the commander of the 
Alida, we were put ashore without the interesting 
ceremony of the customary morning meal. And here 
the first evidences of dissatisfaction among the men 
began to appear. 

The sudden interruption of any habit is apt to 
excite discontent, if not physical suffering. Among 
other sometimes inconvenient habits, that of eating 
breakfast is not exempt from this general rule. It is 
not, or rather should not be, a matter of astonishment 
that some of the men grumbled as they trudged along 
up to the barracks, a distance of three miles, under 
burdens almost equal in weight to the equipment of 
Caesar's renowned infantry. It was near the hour of 

S6 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

noon when breakfast was served, consisting of pickled 
pork and baker's bread, which some of the men 
facetiously styled "wasp nest." The change to this 
diet from the excellent fare enjoyed on the Alida was 
depressing in its effects on the spirits of the men, and 
had a very decided tendency to deepen the gloom 
which had already begun to appear in the prospect 
before us. 

I remember the few days of our stay at Jefferson 
Barracks as a period of anxious waiting. The men 
were alarmed about cholera, and they began to see 
that the life of a soldier had much in it besides the 
sportive and holiday aspect which they had seen in 
the distance. We had been at the post but a few days 
when two of our comrades were taken to the hospital. 
It was believed that they had cholera, and that night 
ten men deserted. A few days later Sergeant Mil- 
ledge Welch died at the hospital. He had passed 
through the perils of the Mexican War to fall a victim 
here to the terrible scourge. The other case. Com- 
rade Smith, whose songs had so enlivened our jour- 
ney down the Cumberland, had also a fatal result, and 
the voice that had so charmed us was hushed forever. 

I have no memorandum of the date of leaving Jef- 
ferson Barracks. I think the officers were hardly 
less pleased than the men when we went aboard the 
old steamer, the Martha Jewett, and commenced the 
voyage up the Missouri. The character of this river 
is so widely and well known that I shall not attempt an 
extended description of it. It is here to-day, there 
to-morrow. The pilot of to-day may have as much 
difficulty in finding the channel a month hence as if 

87 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

he had never floated on its turbid waters. The sol- 
diers, the majority of whom had never seen a steam- 
boat until they arrived at Nashville on our journey 
westward, found interest and amusement in the cry 
of the man who stood on the prow, ever throwing the 
lead and calling out the depth of water for the in- 
formation of the pilot. 

Occasionally we ran into a sand bar. In the prow 
of the boat was fixed a stout upright spar, thirty or 
forty feet in length, rigged at the top with ropes and 
tackle. The ropes were attached to the upper ends 
of two heavy beams which rested on the gunwales, 
one on each side, and, passing through the pulleys, 
hung down to the foot of the spar. When the boat 
grounded, these heavy beams were dropped to the 
bottom, and then, by means of another set of ropes 
and pulleys with which they were rigged, the men 
lifted the boat out of the sand and she moved for- 
ward or back, according as the pilot determined 
whether he would attempt to work over the bar or 
back off and seek an open channel. This operation, 
interesting at first because it was novel, soon became 
monotonous and scarcely relieved the imxpatience 
caused by the delay. What we especially desired now 
was to push forward to our destination. Our food 
was so much inferior to that served on the Cumber- 
land steamer, and the manner of serving it so foreign 
to our ideas of what is due the soldiers of the great 
republic, that we felt we had good reason to complain. 
Some of the men had berths between decks; some, 
through the favor of the engineer, found warm places 
near the engine; but many preferred the upper deck 

88 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

and the chilly air to the warmth and crowd and foul 
smells below. 

Among the latter was my friend Joe, more than 
once referred to in the course of this narrative. He 
was ill from the beginning of the voyage up the Mis- 
souri, and his symptoms grew worse until I became 
anxious about him. My memory recalls particularly 
a night when, as he lay on the upper deck wrapped 
in his overcoat, with only a blanket between him and 
the board, my mind went back to the circumstances 
of his enlistment and dwelt on his present situation 
with painful brooding. I had not by any appeal, per- 
suasion, or suggestion induced him to enlist, but his 
enlistment had been a result of my rash example. He 
was a boy of most amiable disposition, of lively wit, 
faithful and ardent in his friendship, generous and 
truthful. He was my junior by some years. I had 
rejoiced in the prospect of his companionship, but now 
I most heartily wished him restored to the circle of 
loving ones at his old home in the balmy South. Ap- 
proaching him, and finding that he suffered from the 
chill of the night, I spread my greatcoat over him. 
Later I found him sleeping comfortably ; and having 
walked the deck until weariness began to subdue emo- 
tion, I lay down by my friend, and the thread of pain- 
ful thought was soon lost in slumber. My apprehen- 
sions proved groundless. Joe was soon on his feet 
again, and in his turn became the anxious watcher, 
while I lingered long on that mysterious borderland, 
where one may almost hear, floating in the misty air, 
echoes from the other shore. 

89 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



Almost a Row. 



The men employed on our boat were coolies. One 
day a landing was made for the purpose of taking 
in wood. The soldiers, always on the lookout for ob- 
jects of interest along the shore, stood along the rails, 
and points of vantage below, observing the scene. 
Two gang planks were quickly thrown out, and at 
a signal from the boatswain the coolies marched out 
in single file over one of the planks, going at a half 
trot, and, each one having quickly taken up his load 
of wood, returned by the other plank in the same 
order. 

The boatswain stood upon the gunwale overlooking 
the work, now and then prodding the men with a sharp 
word to keep up the required haste. Suddenly he 
was seen to spring at the line and strike a man full in 
the face, uttering at the same time an angry epithet. 
The man staggered, and a second blow felled him, 
with his burden of fuel, to the deck. He scrambled 
to his feet, his face bleeding and distorted with pain, 
and hurriedly, without a word or gesture of resentment, 
gathered up the wood and took his place in the line. 

It is remarkable that the only visible effect this lit- 
tle spurt of the boatswain had upon the line of wood 
carriers was to quicken the movement of every man 
in it. Is it possible to conceive of Americans thus 
submissive — thus apparently indifferent to the cruel 
treatment of one of their fellows? Nearly all the 
soldiers aboard were Southern men familiar with the 
treatment of slaves, but some of them had probably 
never seen one subjected to the lash. (I had myself 

90 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

never seen but two negro men whipped; and one of 
these was a runaway, and the other received a few 
sharp cuts with a rawhide in the hands of a man, not 
his master, whom he had aroused to sudden anger, 
and from whom he broke and fled, the angered man 
vainly pursuing, much to the amusement of the few 
witnesses.) If a master or overseer had been guilty 
of beating a slave as this coolie was beaten, whether 
with billet or his fist, unless he had done it in self- 
defense, he would have been regarded by his neigh- 
bors as an inhuman brute. Public opinion, while it 
approved of necessary discipline, generally protected 
the slave from wanton cruelty. 

Our soldiers looked upon the conduct of the boat- 
swain as inhumanly cruel, and, in the vehemence of 
indignation, did not hesitate to give loud expression 
to their opinions. So high, at last, rose their ex- 
citement that, but for the interference of the officers, 
aided by a few of the cooler heads among the men, 
our sportive boatswain would have fared worse than 
his unresisting victim. 

Cruelty is not inconsistent with animal courage, but 
true manly courage is ever humane. 

At Fort Leavenworth. 

We had at last reached the end of our voyage on 
the Missouri. Taking up our knapsacks, arms, and 
accouterments, we went ashore, and upon the road- 
side, a hundred yards from the landing, sat down to 
rest and wait, as I suppose, for quarters to be selected 
and prepared for us in the old fort on the hill. Look- 
ing up the hill, over a little bridge which then spanned 

91 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

a ravine at that point, the upper stories of the white- 
washed walls of the quarters, with the dark roofs 
above, appearing partly veiled by the deep green fo- 
liage of intervening trees, the eye fell upon a scene 
worthy of an artist's pencil. 

Perhaps Lieutenant C — expected us to recognize the 
charms of the scene. But for my part, being far from 
well myself, I was discouraged by the bad state of 
health in the company; and when he asked me how I 
was pleased with the place, I very promptly told him 
that to me it appeared rather gloomy. To this he re- 
pled sharply: "The fact is, you are determined to be 
dissatisfied." How far he was mistaken as to me, the 
reader may judge from the following extracts from 
letters written a few days afterwards : 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 
August II, 1855. 
Dear Mother: . . We still have a long list of 
sick — thirty, I believe, out of about eighty men. But 
we have had no case of cholera in two or three days, 
and many who are reported sick are only weak, too 
weak to water and curry horses. Among these last 
I class myself. I have watered my horse but once, 
and that was on the day he was assigned to me. I 
have just had a severe headache, which, with my weak- 
ness during the last three or four weeks, I attribute to 
dyspepsia, which, you will recollect, was at its worst 
with me at this time last year and year before. Still, 
I am up in the morning at reveille, a little after dawn, 
and at tattoo roll call, at nine in the evening. I have 
no duty except to conduct the sick to the hospital be- 
fore breakfast in the morning, and then take my meal 
of toast. and tea, which is very palatable, and perhaps 
more nourishing for me than beef, bacon, beans, or 

92 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

potatoes, any of which I could have, with coffee, if I 
chose. I should not consider my indisposition worth 
mentioning, but I suppose you will hear of the sick- 
ness here, and you might think that I am more unwell 
than usual. . . . 

Joe had to go back to the hospital, and has been 
quite sick, but is now much better. . . . 

All the deaths but one have been of cholera. We 
have lost seven men — one on the Cumberland, two at 
Jefferson Barracks, and four here. I think we are 
done with it now. . . . We have lost eighteen 
men by desertion, some of whom ran off from the 
cholera, and a few on account of ill treatment at the 
hands of the orderly sergeant. He gets drunk occa- 
sionally, and he then uses very abusive language. I 
see no reason why we should not live very comfortably 
here. We have good quarters in a large brick build- 
ing. Below are the kitchen, pantry, dining room, and 
two small vacant rooms, while above there is the gar- 
ret for storage, the orderly room, and, lastly, the sleep- 
ing room, which contains bunks for the accommoda- 
tion of fifty-two men ; and there is ample room for the 
remainder to make themselves comfortable on the 
floor, each one having a good blanket and every two 
a "bed sack" filled with new hay. The country people 
— Indians and whites — bring country produce of all 
sorts for sale, and any sort of groceries is convenient 
at the store here and at the neighboring towns of 
Leavenworth and Western, two and five miles dis- 
tant. Eggs are worth twenty cents; chickens, from 
fifteen cents to twenty-five cents; Irish potatoes, one 
dollar and fifty cents. So you see, if we are not sat- 
isfied with the government allowance, we can supply 
ourselves with what we want. We get our clothing 
very neatly ''done up" for seventy-five cents per doz- 
en. We have cotton jackets and pants to wear in 
warm weather. These we shall not need much until 
next summer. It is not too warm any morning for 

93 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

an overcoat, and it is quite cool when the wind blows 
after a rain. We get our water mostly from the 
river, which runs within two hundred and fifty yards 
of our quarters, though we are on a hill seventy or 
eighty feet above the river's level. Boats are passing 
frequently, and sometimes furnish us with lemonade or 
other dainties, according to our taste. We use, also, 
a good deal of rain water (which is preferable to all 
other here) ; and there are springs around, but v/e have 
not troubled ourselves to visit them. Twenty pounds 
of ice per day is allowed each company. So, upon the 
whole, I can't see why we may not have an agreeable 
time enough, as soon as our sick list gets down to a 
reasonable number, so as to make the duties of all 
lighter. There are now thirty sick, and a few days 
ago they numbered forty. 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 
August 25, 1855. 

Dear .• Being myself just far enough out of the 

hospital to be off duty, and Joe being just far enough 
out not to be on duty, both feeling very well and more 
than usually cheerful from having received your let- 
ter of the 6th inst., the first since our departure from 
home, we go to work to reply to your inquiries. 

Company I is getting on very well now. The men, 
having of necessity made up their minds to quit 
growling and do their duty, have become better sat- 
isfied, and everything moves on smoothly. Only thirty- 
five are sick now. Joe is well, and has been for a 
week, but he was kept in the hospital because he 
wouldn't take care of himself. He is yet too weak for 
duty. 

We have had very agreeable weather this week, 
and have been drilling on horseback. Any man with 
good resolutions and without laziness or false pride 
would be satisfied here, as far as one can be so away 
from friends and home. If one will only cherish the 

94 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

belief that cheerfulness is a duty and try habitually 
to make the best of everything, he must be in a meas- 
ure contented. I take my motto from Tupper: "Suc- 
cess, the offspring of cheerfulness and courage." 

Garrison duties are rather monotonous, and we are 
now anticipating with pleasure an expedition to the 
plains about the 20th of next month, for which orders 
are already out. There has been a massacre in that 
direction. 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 
September 8, 1855. 

Dear Mother, Brothers, and Sisters: Well pleased 
I was to receive letters from home dated August 23d 
yesterday evening — only fifteen days old. They 
seemed all too short. 'Tis true there was some bad 
news, but I almost forgot it in the joy of hearing from 
home. We have had no pay, and I have been desti- 
tute of envelopes and paper. I am this morning in- 
debted to Mr. Clarke for a supply, which enables me 
to answer your kind and flattering letter. 

In my intercourse with the world I have often been 
made to feel my imperfections keenly; but, upon the 
whole, I guess I have no reason to complain about the 
appreciation of my fellow-men. There is a sort of 
selfishness which w411 not acknowledge merit in others, 
and will shoot its shafts of sarcasm at you whenever 
you expose a vulnerable point. Fortunately, there is 
a generous spirit which is ever ready to give com- 
mendation when -it is deserved, feeling it to be the 
less sin to go beyond the mark and make an over- 
estimate of merit, rather than fall short of it. Rely- 
ing on its own strength, its generous argument is that 
it can well afford to inspire the despondent with cour- 
age and self-reliance, when it can do so, by timely 
encomium. It is the small mind that imagines its own 
importance magnified when it depreciates another. It 
has been my good fortune to number among my 

95 



IN BARRACK AND FifiLD. 

friends a few of those kindly natures whose happiness 
it is to inspire others with the feehng — you may call 
it sentiment if you will — that makes them think bet- 
ter of mankind and of themselves. To prove myself 
grateful to these shall be my constant aim. 

We are briskly preparing to march on the 20th — 
drilling four hours every day. The heat is almost in- 
sufferable. There has been no rain for about two 
weeks, and the dust rises about us in clouds so that 
one's most intimate friend would hardly recognize 
him as he comes from drill. Our company has not 
yet received arms. We rode at first with stirrups 
crossed over the saddles. I have seen a half-dozen 
men thrown at a single drill. The simple foreigners, 
many of whom never before mounted a horse, use the 
spur to hold themselves in the saddle. The natural 
result follows. The horse rears and plunges until the 
saddle is emptied. 

I rode one day at drill a very stubborn horse, quite 
untrained. We were exercising in the school of the 
trooper. When it came my turn to move out, my 
horse, instead of moving forward, raised himself on 
his hind legs and, falling to one side, caught my leg 
under him. Extricating myself, I mounted again, and 
again he lifted his fore legs in the air. I was expect- 
ing it this time, and, placing my hand on the pummel, 
sprang back, pulling him over with such force that he 
was never disposed to try the experiment again, and I 
had no further trouble with him. 

To the soldier garrison life is more or less monot- 
onous according to his temperament and habits. The 
first few weeks at Fort Leavenworth was, with a large 
majority of the rank and file of the First Cavalry, a 
time of apprehension and gloom, on account of chol- 
era and several fatal cases of typhoid fever. A num- 
ber of the younger men were seized with a morbid 

96 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

longing for home. Gradually this wore off as the 
health of the garrison improved and one after another 
of the convalescents took up the routine duties of the 
Post. Things began to assume a more cheerful as- 
pect. Recruits began to feel ambitious to imitate the 
sang-froid of the old soldiers among us. Many sought 
excitement in gambling; a few found forgetfulness 
in frequent potations. There was at that time no 
Post library where one not inclined to mix with the 
crowd could retire during the intervals of duty and 
enjoy the society of books. 



THE DAILY ROUTINE. 

The routine of each day included, first, reveille, 
when at the sound of the bugle the men fell into line 
in front of the company quarters, and the roll was 
called. Stable call followed immediately. At this 
call the orderly sergeant marched the company to 
the stables, where, under the supervision of an officer, 
they groomed their horses, which were fed at the 
same time by men detailed for that purpose. This 
duty performed, the company marched back to quar- 
ters. Breakfast call followed, after an interval of 
time sufficient for due preparations. 

After breakfast came water call, the signal for re- 
pairing to the stable and watering the horses. Then 
came guard mounting, usually at 8 a.m. in summer 
and at 9 in winter. An hour later the bugle called 
to the drill ground, where the men were exercised 
from one to two hours. 

7 97 



IN BARRACK AND ViELD. 

Dinner at 12, drill again at 3 p.m., then water call 
and stable call again; the assembly (for roll call) at 
sundown, then supper; tattoo at 9, and taps — the sig- 
nal for putting out lights — at 9:15. Surgeon's call 
was the signal for those who had reported unable for 
duty to repair to the hospital for examination and 
treatment. They were usually accompanied by a non- 
commissioned officer, with a book containing a list of 
the sick. The order of the surgeon in each case was 
entered on the list, for the information of the orderly 
sergeant. 

The sanitary police of the Post was done by men de- 
tailed each day, or by prisoners, under the direction of 
a noncommissioned officer. The signal for this serv- 
ice is denominated ''fatigue call." Men detailed for 
any special work for the day also responded to this 
call. The company quarters were policed, ice brought 
from the ice house, and bread from the bakery by 
men detailed each day for the purpose, the details be- 
ing read out at the assembly roll call each evening for 
the next day. The thoughtful young reader will read- 
ily perceive that the life of cavalrymen in garrison is 
not all a holiday af¥air. Yet, when a man happened 
to escape a detail, he had some time to devote to pur- 
suing the suggestions of his taste. A few of us em- 
ployed some part of this leisure pleasantly, if not prof- 
itably, in rambling about the woods, searching for 
hazelnuts, alarming the shy rabbit, watching in a 
dreamy way the grand sweep of the river's current 
around the bluff ; or, climbing the hills, we sought the 
most favorable point for observing the surrounding 

98 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

country, with all its rich prospect of prairie and for- 
est, and farm and village. 

It was my custom to write in a commonplace book 
something of what I saw on these rambles. I copy 
a page showing the impression I had of the scenery 
about the fort at that time. 

Sunday, March 27, 1857. — Seated on the tallest 
spur of the hills adjacent to Fort Leavenworth, the 
view in front is extensive, varied, and beautiful. 
There to the south is the United States farm, with 
its thousand acres of pasture inclosed by rural-looking 
fences, and dotted with many a pleasant grove of oak 
and hazel. Beyond is the rising city of Leavenworth, 
and there, just below, is a little gleam of the great 
river, on whose banks it stands, looking, as the rays 
of the noonday sun fall upon the rippling wavelets, 
like a lake of silver set in the majestic forest. And 
there miles and miles away to the south a column of 
smoke, from one of the river steamers, rises above 
a rift in the forest and floats away in fantastic 
wreaths until lost in shadowy clouds. 

A little v/est of south is Pilot Knob, a sort of 
promontory extending out into the plain which skirts 
the river here, and forming the southern extremity 
of a circuitous ridge — the western boundary of the 
great amphitheater in which stand the fort and city 
of Leavenworth and the public farms. 

Southward from Pilot Knob, and between it and 
the river, an uninterrupted succession of plains, that 
seem to rise one above another, extends as far as the 
eye can reach. Northward, about five miles from the 
fort, the city of Western lies half hidden among the 

99 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

bluffs beyond the Missouri, its situation suggestive of 
a design to shut itself out from the world and seek, 
in serious meditation among the wilds of nature, that 
happiness which 'tis said is found not in the crowded 
thoroughfares of men. But " 'Tis distance lends en- 
chantment to the view." 

Next, in an opening in the forest, south from West- 
ern, are discovered the smooth fields of the upper 
farm, very beautiful now, with their carpeting of 
velvet gray ; but when the green corn and golden 
wheat wave and rustle at the touch of summer 
breezes, how beautiful then ! 



THE COMMISSIONED OFFICERS. 

Before entering the service I had been assured 
that the officers were tyrants, who took advantage of 
the authority conferred by rank for the purpose of 
maintaining that subordination without which an 
army would become a mob, and used it to hector and 
abuse the enlisted men. In five years' service, during 
which I was associated on duty with officers of caval- 
ry, infantry, and artillery, I met with not more than 
two or three instances of positive unkindness. On 
the contrary, I found them usually courteous in the 
exercise of authority; and while exacting obedi- 
ence and respect, their conduct toward their men 
was that of guardians looking humanely to their wel- 
fare rather than tyrannical or oppressive. Many of 
the officers of the old First Cavalry — now the Fourth 
— have since become distinguished. In the great con- 

100 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

flict between the States, the North took from this 
regiment Edwin V. Sumner, Sedgewick, Emory, De- 
los B. Sacket, G. B. McClellan, Tom J. Wood, Stur- 
gis, Eugene A. Carr, Tom Crittendon. The South 
called to her defense Joseph E. Johnston, William N. 
R. Beall, Mcintosh, William S. Walker, De Saussure, 
G. H. Stewart, J. E. B. Stuart, Alfred Iverson, Rob- 
ert Ransom, George T. Anderson, Lomax, John N. 
Perkins, and Ingraham. A more gallant set of offi- 
cers never led soldiers to victory or stood by them 
in defeat. 

The laudable admiration of Americans for their 
countrymen who have won renown by distinguished 
public services imparts a certain interest to the recita- 
tion of incidents which, if related of ordinary men, 
would be passed by with indifference. Such interest 
attaches, in the mind of the writer, to the anecdotes 
here recorded; but they are given for the purpose, 
mainly, of illustrating the disposition of our officers 
toward their men. 

Anecdotes of Colonel Sumner. 

Colonel Sumner, known to the men as "Bull of the 
Woods," from some cause (possibly a sternness of de- 
meanor, which had been growing on him from the 
habit of command for the third of a century, was un- 
popular with many of the younger officers. It may 
have been because he exacted of them the same rigid 
adherence to the lines of discipline which was required 
of the enlisted men. Whatever the cause, the fact 
existed that he was less popular with the officers than 
with the men. Perhaps they, the enlisted men, rec- 

lOI 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD, 

ognized by intuition the heart of gold that lay con- 
cealed under the sternness of years and rank. 

My first experience with him had much to do with 
the impressions I had of his character, and which 
have never left me. I had from some cause forgotten 
a service which I had been directed to perform, and 
received a summons to report at headquarters. I 
went, conscious of being without excuse, and not 
knowing what penalty I had subjected myself to. I 
had been guilty, though unintentionally, of disobe- 
dience of orders, and the result, without a pardon, 
could be nothing less than reduction to the ranks. 
The soldier can imagine the state of my nerves as I 
entered the office of the post adjutant. There sat the 
Colonel in all his terrible dignity. As he turned his 
eyes upon me I made the usual salute, saying: ''Colo- 
nel, I have been directed to report here." To his 
question whether I had received orders to perform a 
certain duty, I w^as obliged to say that I had. 

"Have you done it?" this somewhat sternly. 

'T am sorry to say that I have not." 

''And why, sir?" 

I frankly told him that I had forgotten it. 

His reply was emphasized with a shake of the great 
head. "A soldier never forgets, Sergeant ; a soldier 
never forgets." 

Upon my assuring him that I would not let the of- 
fense occur again, after some kind words of caution 
he dismissed me. 

I witnessed another incident that will serve to illus- 
trate the humane side of this stern old soldier. The 
regiment was at drill, mounted. A horse suddenly 

1 02 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

broke from the ranks and, dashing across the fields, 
ran straight into a passing team of oxen, of three 
or four yokes. He went against the chain behind the 
second yoke with tremendous force, and horse and 
man went down together. The leading oxen were 
jerked backward, the wheelers were filled with ter- 
ror, and the cavalryman and his steed were, for the 
moment, in imminent danger of being trampled to 
death. One of the soldier's company officers had fol- 
lowed him, and called loudly to the wagoner and his 
assistants, who stood as if utterly bewildered by the 
suddenness of the affair, saying: ''Get that horse out 
of there, get that horse out of there." Colonel Sum- 
ner had followed the officer closely, and, hearing his 
order, shouted with a voice that might have been 
heard a mile : "Get that man out of there, G — d d — n 
it to h — 1, get that ma?i out of there !" Few who heard 
it could forget the emphasis which he put upon the 
word "man." He seemed to rise in his stirrups to get 
a stronger grip on it. This was the only time I ever 
heard Colonel Sumner use profane language. In his 
view, evidently, the occasion called for emphatic ob- 
jurgation, and polite terms of rebuke did not just then 
occur to him. 

Lieut. J. E. B. Stuart. 

The chivalrous J. E. B. Stuart was regimental quar- 
termaster, and even at that time possessed that fond- 
ness for display which characterized him later, when, 
as the great cavalry leader of the South, he was win- 
ning imperishable laurels. He liked occasionally to 
stroll about in citizen's dress, and I am indebted to this 

103 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

fact for my personal acquaintance with him. Just 
north of the fort a Httle bridge spanned a ravine 
crossing a road leading down to the river. Walking 
here one day, and somewhat absorbed in thought, as 
I approached the bridge from below I saw coming 
from the opposite direction a man of medium height. 
He wore a neatly-fitting sack coat of black alpaca, 
black pants, and broad-brimmed Panama hat. A 
black ribbon hung loosely from his hat, the lower end 
tied in a buttonhole of the coat. There was nothing 
about him to indicate the officer; and although I had 
a slight impression that he was one, when we met 
on the bridge I passed him without saluting. I had 
walked off the bridge when, without looking back, 
I became aware that he had stopped and was looking 
at me. 

"Look here !" The tone in which these words were 
spoken was such as any one might use in calling at- 
tention. I turned and faced him. 

"Didn't you know that you are required to salute 
officers here, when you meet them?" 

"Yes, sir ; but I didn't know that I was expected to 
recognize officers in citizen's clothing." 

"A-a-h. But you must salute when you do recog- 
nize them." 

I gave him to understand that it would be a pleas- 
ure to do so; gave the salute, he returned it, and we 
went on our several ways. 

104 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

GENERAL S. D. STURGIS. 

I HAVE heard some adverse criticism of General 
Sturgis. I know not v^hether he is yet on the stage 
of action, nor how many there may be who will smile 
at his praise or frown at his censure. Waiving 
the circumstance of his having got such a drubbing 
at Bryce's Crossroads by Forrest and Rucker and 
Morton and the other fellows, that I know : that Stur- 
gis had a heart of humane mold. The following in- 
cident illustrates a trait of character that won for him 
the hearty good will of his men : 

A garrison court-martial of which he was president 
was sitting for the trial of petty offenses against the 
military code. Among the cases before the court was 
one growing out of the following circumstances: On 
a cold winter night a youth, who had apparently 
barely reached the age required for enlistment, was 
brought to the guardhouse and turned over to the 
sergeant in command as a deserter. Cold as it was, 
his clothing was of cotton. He was small of stature, 
pale, and pitiable in appearance. The sergeant, 
moved by a sense of humanity, permitted him to sit 
in the guard room by the stove, intending to lock him 
up when he had warmed himself. Leaving him there 
in charge of the corporal who was on watch, he re- 
turned to the officers' room. Later in the night, go- 
ing into the guard room to look after his prisoner, he 
found him asleep, lying under the raised platform 
erected for the men off duty to sleep on, his feet pro- 
jecting out toward the stove. The humane corporal 
agreed with the sergeant that to awake the boy and 

105 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

lock him in the prison room or a cell, where he would 
have to lie on the bare floor without a blanket, would 
be an unnecessary cruelty, as he could be safely kept 
where he was. So the young man was allowed to 
sleep where he was and "remember his misery no 
more" until morning. After daylight no apprehen- 
sion of his escape was felt, so he was not locked up. 
The junior sergeant of the guard first went to his 
breakfast. Upon his return the sergeant in command 
went, leaving the junior in charge. Guard-mounting 
came on at the usual hour, when, in turning the pris- 
oners over to the new guard, it was discovered that 
the new prisoner was missing. 

Upon these facts charges were preferred by the 
officer of the day against the sergeant for "neglect of 
duty" in allowing a prisoner to escape. The ser- 
geant was aware that, under the rigid rules of the 
code military, it was his duty to have locked the pris- 
oner up; and though his neglect to do so may 
have been, under the circumstances, a failing that 
"leaned to virtue's side," he felt that he was tech- 
nically guilty as charged, and, when his case was 
called, entered a plea accordingly, and proposed to 
introduce his captain, who was present, for the pur- 
pose of showing good general conduct in mitigation 
of sentence. 

Captain Sturgis, President: "If he is going to plead 
guilty, what is the use of any evidence in the case?" 

The Judge Advocate: "The prisoner is allowed to 
introduce evidence under a plea of guilty to show 
previous good conduct." 

Captain Sturgis : "Yes, I know ; but under a plea 
io6 



In barrack and field. 

of not guilty he would have a wider range of evi- 
dence. We don't know what he might prove. It 
may be that the prisoner got away while he was gone 
to breakfast and the junior sergeant had charge." 

The Defendant: "If the Court will permit me, I 
withdraw the plea as entered and plead not guilty." 

The sergeant would have been dull indeed if he 
had not seen the loophole which the generous-minded 
president had made for his escape. The plea of not 
guilty having been entered, the corporal who had been 
in charge of the guard room on the morning of the 
escape was sent for. The sergeant was allowed to 
confer with him privately about what he knew touch- 
ing the case, and he was then sworn as a witness. 
The corporal testified that he saw the prisoner in the 
guard room about sunup; that soon after that time 
the defendant went to breakfast, and that he did not 
remember having seen the prisoner afterwards. An- 
other witness had seen the prisoner after daylight. 

With this evidence the case was submitted to the 
Court, and the sergeant was acquitted. 

From Leavenworth to Kearney. 

The 20th of September, the day appointed for our 
westward move, arrived' at last, and as the regiment 
marched out the men were inspired with new anima- 
tion. The first three days' march led over a prairie 
country, rolling and rich of soil, with here and there 
a high ridge where the soil was thin, and in places 
bearing scrubby black-jack. For some days I had 
been in a low state of health. In fact, I suppose I 
was sick; but as it was understood that this was to 

107 



• 
IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



be an expedition into the Indian country, and there 
might be some fighting, I had stubbornly kept off of 
the sick Hst, feehng that it would be a disgrace to be 
left behind. Lieutenant Carr had proposed to have 
me detailed to remain in charge of the company prop- 
erty. I thanked him, but respectfully declined, which 
was a great mistake on my part. 

On the evening of the third day we encamped near 
a small stream skirted by a luxuriant growth of tim- 
ber. The grass on the prairie fronting our camp was 
three or four feet high. Next morning my horse was 
missing, having pulled up the picket pin. In going 
about to look for him my feet and legs got thoroughly 
wet with the dew, and before I had found him there 
fell a heavy shower. I returned to my tent tired as 
well as wet. 

Our marching orders included one requiring the 
horses to be unsaddled at the noon halt, and blankets 
put over them to protect their backs from the sun. 
When "boots and saddles" sounded on the afternoon 
of that day, I found my strength unequal to the feat 
of lifting my heavy dragoon saddle to its place. I 
paid a man a quarter to do this service for me. After 
this evening I did not answer at the company roll call 
again until Christmas had come and gone. On the 
next morning I was unable to mount. I was put into 
a common wagon — without springs — to be hauled 
three hundred miles and left at Fort Kearney, in Ne- 
braska. And this was glory! I could never remem- 
ber much of the march after this date. It is all like 
a dream. There were a number of sick men in the 
wagon, among them private Gunnels, a native of my 

io8 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

county, and a member of Company I. Gunnels was 
chiefly noted for his pecuHar physical development. 
He was Brobdingnagian in height and Lilliputian in 
breadth. He was, by the way, an inveterate grum- 
bler. He would lie most of the time flat on his back, 
his head near the front, his legs stretched well out 
toward the back of the wagon. I have a vague rec- 
ollection of sitting with my back against the sides of 
the wagon body, my knees drawn up against my 
chest, the long form of Gunnels ever stretched out 
before me. Now and then he would utter a cry of 
pain or a doleful complaint at our fellow-passengers 
for crowding and getting on him. Perhaps it was 
true, possibly my fevered imagination made it appear 
that the stronger men were imposing on Gunnels, and 
the impression was left on my mind that, in efforts to 
protect him, I used language not laid down in the 
catechism. 

The scene changes, and I find myself in a hospital 
tent at Fort Kearney, a young surgeon bending over 
me and asking questions about me of the attendant. 
His tone was gentle, and the expression of his face 
most kindly. I had afterwards the impression that I 
had tried to bribe him to give me special attention by 
telling him that if he would get me up I would help 
him about the other sick men, and that he replied 
soothingly : "Yes, I want you to get well." One day, 
stimulated for the moment by the fever, I had walked 
a little way out from the tent, being perhaps only 
half-conscious, and was returning vv^hen I fell down. 
Attempting to rise, I tumbled over again. The sur- 
geon happened to see me. I heard him tell some one 

109 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

to carry me into the hospital. I was conscious of 
being raised on a blanket, then the light went out. 
Hope and fear and care for life and its responsibilities 
had slipped away and left me in a mysterious region 
of shadows and forgetfulness : 

''Where my wrecked, desponding thought 
From wave to wave of fancied misery drove, 
Her helm of reason lost." 

Did you ever, when a child, having slept at some 
place other than your own bedroom, upon awaking 
in the morning, lie very still for a little space of time 
trying to make out where you were and how you 
came there? It was just so with me. On a fine day 
in November — about the ist — I discovered myself 
lying on a cot in the corner of a room with a rather 
low ceiling, my feet to the wall. ''Where am I ?" ''How 
came I here?" were questions which I was trying to 
answer, as I lay very still looking about. I was con- 
scious of a murmur of voices in the room, but there 
was no one within the range of my sight. Listening, 
I made out presently that three or four persons of 
different nationalities were conversing in subdued 
tones, and that some person who was very sick was 
the subject of their talk. This was about what I 
heard : 

"He may linger days yet, don't you know?" 

"He'll be det before the sun goes down mit the 
hills." 

-"And, poor fellow, it's a hard time he's been afther 
having. Did yez hear him the night talkin' to his 
mother, like she'd been there kneelin' by the bed of 

IIO 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

him and he lookin' into her blessed eyes? And it's 
goin' to see her I'm thinkin' he is afore long." 

I hear the light steps of some one approaching ; 
then a face comes into the line of my vision and bends 
over me with a look of sympathetic but hopeless in- 
quiry. As I look up into his eyes they flash with 
sudden light, and a gleam of satisfaction mantles the 
kindly face. "Och, bejabbers," he cries; "he's risin' ! 
He'll come out o' it yet." Then the others come around 
and look at me, while my good-hearted Irish friend 
rushes out and directly returns with the hospital stew- 
ard, who feels my pulse and asks me, smilingly, how 
I feel. I felt very weak, and so expressed myself, 
and it was unanimously agreed that this was not a 
matter of surprise. 

I was, in truth, in a sad plight — my mouth was al- 
most covered with a scab, while fever sores dotted my 
body here and there, and a little patch of bone peeped 
out at each hip, where the skin was worn away. If I 
could have recovered my strength without being re- 
clothed wath flesh, I might have made a fortune ex- 
hibiting as the living skeleton. When I had grown 
strong enough to inspect the cot upon which I lay, I 
found the hay with which the bed sack was filled in 
a condition which suggested that it might have been 
part of a supply laid in by Noah of old to feed the 
animals in the ark. It was not merely broken into 
little bits ; it was practically pulverized. I do not 
suppose that such an article could be found in any 
United States hospital now, thanks to a more rigid 
s}stem of inspection and a better understanding of 
the money value of liberality in the matter of hospital 

III 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

supplies. Nor do I believe that the surgeon then in 
charge was responsible. His hospital wards became 
crowded at a time when it would have been difficult, 
if at all possible, to procure new hay or straw, and it 
was probably necessary to bring into use again arti- 
cles that had been condemned and laid aside. I re- 
ceived the kindest and most careful treatment at the 
hands of Surgeon Alexander and his steward. 



COMRADESHIP. 

Reminiscences of this somber period crowd upon 
me as I dwell upon it, trying to recall such incidents 
as may serve to illustrate army life as seen from the 
standpoint of an enlisted man. But, lest my narra- 
tive become tedious, I pass over many things that 
linger in memory as minor lights and shadows of 
soldier life. 

There exists between the soldier and his chosen 
comrade a mutual confidence, which, in its complete- 
ness, is found only among men associated together in 
scenes of suffering or peril, or between persons iso- 
lated for a long period from former friends. I have 
already had occasion to mention in this narrative a 
young soldier whose amiable qualities had won the 
good will of most of his comrades. I had known Joe 
from his childhood. The ties of old association were 
confirmed and strengthened by our comradeship and 
separation from our mutual friends. Before I was 
taken with the fever he had confided to me the keeping 
of some money which he did not need, and I had in 

112 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

turn deposited it with our captain. When the regi- 
ment, returning from the expedition into the Chey- 
enne country, halted at Fort Kearney, Joe came to the 
hospital to see me. I had been for many days en- 
tirely oblivious of my surroundings, my mind wander- 
ing in a "sea of dreams tumultuous." I had made no 
conscious response to the surgeon who treated me, 
nor to the steward or attendant who administered the 
medicines. But when the voice of friendship spoke, 
gently calling my name, the mind, with sentient bound, 
broke through the dense cloud with which the fever 
had so long shrouded it, and sav/ and knew the face 
of Joe leaning there above me. 

A French soldier, on the retreat from Moscow, was 
found where he had fallen in the snow, exhausted, 
chilled, and speechless. A comrade said : "Put some 
brandy to his lips ; he will come back to taste it." The 
voice of friendship is stronger than the spirit of the 
vine. 

Joe's anxious inquiries answered, one of us (I 
know not which) mentioned the money he had put in 
my care, and 1 told him to get Captain Anderson to 
come in and I would tell him to let him have it. 1 
think his going and my lapse into unconsciousness 
were simultaneous. 1 never looked upon the kind 
face of little Joe again. He has preceded me to the 
mystic shore vvhich seemed so nigh me then. Again 
I wake to consciousness for a brief moment to ask 
Captain Anderson, as he holds my hand, to let Joe 
have twenty dollars of the money placed with him. I 
learned afterwards that a number of my comrades 
8 n^ 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

came in to see me that day. I recognized none of 
them, nor knew of their coming. 

My recovery was rapid, and on November 22 I 
w^as sent to quarters. But the change from the hos- 
pital diet to the regulation rations was so revolting to 
my system that I was taken back to the hospital in 
less than forty-eight hours. 

A Curious Coincidence. 

I do not know whether the psychologists have no- 
ticed the difference between the vagaries of the mind 
in fever and those which occur in sleep when no fever 
exists; nor, indeed, whether such difference, as a rule, 
exists at all. But, in my own experience, I have ob- 
served that dreams very rarely relate to anything on 
which I have been thinking, whereas in the unreason- 
ing vagaries of fever the mind persistently clings to 
and dwells upon whatever most occupied the thought 
just prior to the attack. That I had, after becoming 
too feeble for duty, dwelt much on the idea of going 
home on furlough was quite natural. A hundred 
times had I pictured to myself the scene of a meeting 
with my family and friends. To realize this dream 
was the one grand purpose that pervaded my soul In 
the delirium of fever, and time after time I fancied 
myself about to accomplish it. x\nd always as I ap- 
proached the consummation of my purpose the same 
obstacle presented itself — a United States hospital. 

In one of these vagaries, after overcoming many 
difficulties, I imagined I had reached a place within 
twenty-five miles of the old homestead. My path 
seemed to lead up a narrow hollow between two 

114 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ridges. At first these ridges were low, and some dis- 
tance on each side from my path ; but they seemed to 
increase in height, converging as I advanced. Sud- 
denly a large building loomed up before me. I no- 
ticed quickly that it filled the narrow gorge from hill 
to hill. There was no way around. The path led 
straight up to the entrance. I dismounted and went 
in. Looking about, I found that I had entered a hos- 
pital ward. There were a number of cots, all occu- 
pied but one, upon which hung a soldier's trousers. 
I sat down by the fire. Presently an attendant ap- 
peared, and I told him that I wanted a place to sleep. 

''There's a bunk over there," he said. 

"Do you take me for a fool?" I replied. "Don't 
you see those trousers? Don't you know that some 
one, who has just gone out, occupies that bunk?" 

The attendant made no reply, having disposed him- 
self to rest on a cot just at the right of the fireplace. 
I sat there some time and, becoming impatient and 
indignant at his inattention to my wants, reached over 
and gave him a shake, saying as curtly as I could : 
"Get up from here, and show^ me where to sleep." 
Then my vision faded out, and all was blank. All 
this creation of fevered fancy was as clear in my 
memory after my return to consciousness as any real 
occurrence that had passed. I found the hospital 
ward where I lay the exact counterpart of that of 
my imagined adventure. There were the same num- 
ber of cots, occupying precisely corresponding posi- 
tions, just as I had seen them. A young Englishman 
lay on the cot at the right of the fireplace. 

I was told that one night during the period of my 
115 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

unconsciousness I had risen from my cot and taken 
a seat by the fire ; that after sitting there in silence 
for a while I had gotten up, seized the sleeping Eng- 
lishman by the hair, and jerked him to a sitting pos- 
ture. He yelled as if all the demons were after him. 
The attendant, who, contrary to orders and to duty, 
was out of his ward, rushed in. He first grasped the 
situation and then grasped me and threw me almost 
across the room into my cot of powdered hay. 

On December 7 I was again sent to quarters, was 
returned for duty on the loth, and mounted guard on 
the nth. I turned the scales that day at ninety-six 
pounds. 

The quarters, which were built of adobe, or prai- 
rie sod, were very comfortable as winter quarters. 
Having no horse to care for, my duties were light; 
yet I was not happy, for I was filled with longing to 
rejoin my regiment, and I still clung to the fading 
hope of getting a furlough, if not a discharge, on the 
ground of my extreme debility. 



A BOOR WITH SHOULDER STRAPS. 

While yet in the hospital, I learned that a detach- 
m.ent under command of a major of infantry was to 
leave for Fort Leavenworth with some Indian pris- 
oners, who had been ordered there to await the pleas- 
ure of the government. I immediately applied for 
permission to accompany this detachment. It was 
granted, and on the morning appointed for setting out, 
soon after reveille, I reported to the acting orderly 

116 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

sergeant. He asked me about my rations. Suppos- 
ing the sergeant would be furnished with a list of all 
who were to be attached to the party, and would draw 
rations for them, I had only procured at the sutler's a 
pound or two of crackers. The sergeant, however, 
said but little about it, and having designated a wagon 
in which to place my arms and accouterments, kindly 
invited me to take coffee with his mess. 

Directly after breakfast I was told that the major 
wanted to see me, and was conducted into the pres- 
ence of a man of medium height, dressed in buckskin, 
with fringed overshirt and leggings, and wearing a 
broad-brimmed slouch hat. He was a man of com- 
pact and sturdy frame, better adapted, I should judge, 
to the gentle offices of a ditcher or hod carrier than 
to military feats. He had been conversing with Cap- 
tain Wharton, the Post Commandant, who stood at 
his side. Turning to me, he said: "Are you going to 
Fort Leavenworth with me?" 

*'Yes, sir ; I want to go." 

"Where are your rations?" 

'T supposed the sergeant in charge would draw 
rations for all the party, sir." 

"You're a purty sergeant," he hissed; "who made 
you a sergeant? Git your things out o' that wagon, 
sir." 

Surprised beyond measure at this exhibition of 
venom in an officer of the army, humiliation and in- 
dignation struggled in my heart for the mastery. 
Looking helplessly at Captain Wharton, I saw in his 
eye an expression which I interpreted to be one of 
sympathy — an interpretation which was confirmed by 

117 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

the tone in which he said to me : "You had better go 
back to the hospital, sergeant, and wait till you are 
stronger. You are too weak to go on this trip any- 
how." 

Sorrowfully I proceeded to "git my things out o' 
that wagon" and return to the hospital, assisted by 
a common soldier, who with Captain Wharton could 
look down from his higher plane of humanity and per- 
haps pity him whose sense of his own importance could 
prompt him to use his authority to crush an inferior. 

Had the major not wished to humiliate me before 
his men, he would have recalled the fact that I 
was a member of a new regiment made up entirely 
of recruits ignorant of the details of the service ; 
that from these it had been necessary to select the 
sergeants. Ignorance of that which one has had no 
opportunity to learn is excusable. In truth I had not 
in a single instance had anything to do with the matter 
of drawing rations for detachments. It was not in 
the line of my duties. Besides, the order attaching 
me to this command should have given direction as 
to rations. But the redoubtable major entered up 
judgment against me without asking if I had a plea to 
file. 

The Return — "The Bravest Are the Tenderest.'' 

On December i8 three officers, with an escort of 
twelve men, with two ambulances and two wagons, 
set out for Fort Leavenworth, whither they had been 
ordered to attend a court-martial. Captain Wharton 
very kindly took advantage of this opportunity to 
send another soldier and the writer to our regiment. 

ii8 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

A third man, who had been discharged on the sur- 
geon's certificate of disabiHty, accompanied the party. 

Several old campaigners had advised me not to try 
to cross the plains at that season of the year. They 
said that, while a robust man accustomed to exposure 
might go through safely, it would be extremely haz- 
ardous for a man like me, who had been but a few 
days out of the hospital, weighing barely a hundred 
pounds, and who had never experienced the rigors of 
a northern winter. Notwithstanding this well-meant 
advice, it was with a light heart that I took my place 
in one of the wagons and proceeded to make myself 
comfortable in buffalo robe and blankets. Through 
the kindness of Dr. Alexander I had been provided 
with a quart of excellent brandy, with directions to 
take a tablespoonful four times a day — a prescription 
not hard to take. 

We crossed the divide — as the upland between the 
Platte and the waters of the Kansas River was called 
— on the first day, and camped about sunset on one 
of the head branches of the Blue. Getting out of the 
wagon, I picked up a long-handled shovel and began 
to clear away the snow. It was about a foot in depth, 
and it was necessary to clear off spaces for the tents. 
Being one of the party by sufferance, as it were, I 
felt it right to do a reasonable share of the work inci- 
dent to camping. Our party was in charge of Cap- 
tain Henderson, of the Sixth Infantry, an old veteran, 
whose left arm, disabled by a wound received during 
the Mexican War, hung rigid at his side. The good 
Captain had left his seat in the ambulance and was 
standing a few feet from me. Conscious that he was 

119 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

observing me, I looked up. Catching my eye, he said 
gently : "Put down that shovel, Sergeant, and get back 
in the wagon; we don't want you to do anything." 
Welcome words, because so kindly said; making me 
realize more fully than ever before how true it is that 
**the bravest are the tenderest." After that evening, 
until we arrived at Fort Leavenworth, when we went 
into camp I kept my place in the wagon until the fires 
wxre made. 

I had, before leaving Kearney, bought a buffalo 
robe. It was not well-dressed, but the best I could 
get with the limited means at my command. At this 
first camp I spread it on the ground at night, and it 
made an excellent bed. There was a roaring fire in 
front of the tent. Next morning I found my robe 
quite wet, the ground having thawed under it. I 
could not get it dry before leaving camp, so I folded 
it up. During the day it froze, and I did not succeed 
in thawing or unfolding it until after we got to Leav- 
enworth. However, I did very well without it. 

At the crossing of the Big Blue, where there was 
a trading post, known as Marysville (the only settle- 
ment then between Kearney and the vicinity of Leav- 
enworth), we were joined by two men who had been 
discharged at Fort Kearney and who were on their way 
to the States. They got permission to go on with us 
and to ride in one of the wagons. One of them, being 
tipsy, fell in the river in the early morning, getting his 
feet and legs Vv^et. Driving over the plateau east of 
the Big Blue that day, the wind swept down upon us 
with chilling force. This man would sit in the fore 
end of the wagon, his feet hanging out. His wet 

120 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

clothing was soon frozen stiffly about his legs. He 
took whisky pretty freely during the day. At camp 
that evening he staggered against a lieutenant of our 
party, who promptly knocked him down. In the 
morning his feet were very much swollen. The re- 
sult, as well as other details of the journey, is related 
in the following letter: 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 
January 3, 1856. 

Dear Mary: On my return to this post, on Decem- 
ber 25, I was much gratified to find quite a budget of 
letters from various quarters, among them two or 
three from yourself. For this kind remembrance you 
have my heartfelt thanks. . . But you were 

doubtless aware that chances in a military life to send 
letters home are very uncertain, while there is some 
certainty of my getting letters, if properly directed, 
though I were hundreds of miles from regimental 
headquarters. 

If my letters from Fort Kearney do not get out of 
the way, you will, before receiving this, learn the 
cause of my long silence. During my stay there I 
wrote several, but none of them left there until the 
very day upon which I left myself, and our party out- 
traveled the mail to this post. We came at a fierce 
trot or gallop, except when ascending hills, making the 
distance of about three hundred miles in eight days, 
over frozen snow, or ice into which the snow had 
been converted by thawing and again freezing. Often 
on a descent the wagons would slide sidewise many 
yards, sometimes approaching the precipitous banks of 
deep ravines so nearly that it would almost make my 
hair rise. In such cases nothing could save us but 
to keep the mules at their utmost speed. The tenden- 
cy of the wagon to slide ofif to the lower side of the 
road was overcome by a rapid forward movement. 

121 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Indeed, when the team was fairly in a trot down any- 
thing Hke a steep decHne, the teamster was powerless 
to stop unless there happened to be unbroken ground 
upon which he could turn aside and bring the wagon 
upon a level. But, in the providence of God, it so 
happened that none of us had our necks broken, and 
only three were frost-bitten. One of these, a dis- 
charged soldier — a very stout man — having got drunk, 
came very near freezing to death. He was brought 
to the hospital here, and the surgeons found it neces- 
sary to amputate both of his feet — one at the ankle, 
the other at the instep. 

This is a very cold climate. I would not advise 
Southerners to come to Kansas. The splendors of a 
boundless view on a plain covered with ice and snow 
glistening in the sunshine, or clothed with flowers and 
waving grass in summer, fail to compensate the be- 
holder for enduring the uninterrupted, the chilling, the 
freezing northern blasts of winter, and the cheerless 
bleakness of an atmosphere often darkened at midday 
with the freezing mist. 

If our people, freed from the insatiable and corrupt- 
ing thirst for wealth, would but learn to appreciate 
the blessings which a bountiful Providence has show- 
ered upon our sunny Southland, they would all see in 
her rippling streams, her wooded hills, and her fertile 
valleys ten thousand beauties undiscovered by eyes 
too much elevated in their gaze toward an imaginary 
paradise beyond the Mississippi. . . . "Ho, for 
California!" ''Ho, for Texas!" "Ho, for Kansas!" 
are expressions found in almost every newspaper of 
the day. Our editors would do their readers a better 
service by advising them to stay at home and hoe for 
cotton and corn. Georgia will be a happy State when 
her citizens shall have ceased to look beyond the re- 
sources of their native land. Then it will be found 
that our Southern soil is not so unfriendly to prog- 
ress that the spirit of enterprise need flit away to some 

122 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Western wilderness in search of fields for its ener- 
gies. 

On the evening of December 25 night came on us 
while we were yet several miles from Fort Leaven- 
worth. In places where there was neither timber nor 
fence to serve as guide, in the uncertain light that 
reflected from the snow that lay along the route, the 
teamsters could not follow the road. The sergeant 
of our escort volunteered to walk in front, and so 
led us into the fort. I learned next day that his 
toes were severely frost-bitten. 

Upon going to my old quarters I found that my 
company had moved into new buildings on the oppo- 
site side of the plaza. The man heretofore mentioned, 
who had been discharged at Kearney on account of 
disability, was w4th me, seeking a place to lodge for 
the night. We had gone half across the plaza when 
he sank down in the snow. I helped him to his feet 
again, but he was quite unable to proceed. Leaving 
him, I hurried on to the new quarters. Seeing a light 
in the dining room, I rushed in there. Perhaps a 
dozen men were grouped around the fireplace. Such 
was their astonishment at seeing me alive (as some 
of them afterwards told me) that they actually be- 
lieved, as they saw me advance across the room, that 
my spirit had appeared before them, so certain had 
they been that I had died at Fort Kearney. It was 
some time before I could get any one's attention. As 
soon, however, as they got hold of the fact that my 
appearance was no illusion, three or four men rushed 
out, brought the poor fellow in, and made him as 
comfortable as possible. 

123 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



HOW NOT TO DO IT. 



Among the old friends of my father resident at 
Newnan, Ga., in 1855 was the late Judge Hugh 
Buchanan, then a rising lawyer. Being in his office 
one day after my enlistment, he said to me that dur- 
ing the period of my service there might come a time 
when friends at home could do something for me. 
"I am not in politics now," said he. "I intend to de- 
vote myself to my profession until I acquire a compe- 
tence; then I may enter politics. If any occasion 
should arise in which I can be of any service to you, 
do not hesitate to call on me. I will do anything in 
my power to advance your interests." 

At the election in the fall of that year, Mr. Buch- 
anan was chosen Senator for his district. The exact- 
ing duties of legislation did not make him forget his 
desire to do something for the son of his old friend. 
After consultation with others who felt a kindly in- 
terest in the matter, he introduced a resolution in- 
structing the Georgia delegation in Congress to ask 
the President to give me a commission. The resolu- 
tion was adopted without a dissenting voice, approved 
by the Governor, and complied with by the Senators 
and Representatives in Congress. 

One morning in the spring of 1856 I was ordered 
to report for guard duty. Nearly, if not all, the regi- 
ment was in garrison, and the guard was proportion- 
ately large, commanded by an officer, and having two 
sergeants and two corporals. When the details from 
the several companies had taken their places in line 
on the parade, it was observed that a large number of 

124 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

officers were grouped in front of the post headquar- 
ters, within the parade ground. This was the usual 
position for persons coming to witness guard-mount- 
ing. But it was unusual to see there, as on this oc- 
casion, half the officers of the garrison. Another un- 
usual thing happened. No officer appeared to take 
command of the guard. I was the senior sergeant, 
and was directed to take command. I was perhaps 
somewhat embarrassed, having never inspected so 
large a guard, nor marched so large a body of men 
in review. Besides, such practice as I had in these 
ceremonies had not been under the eyes of a dozen 
West Pointers, who, with the Colonel, now stood 
along the railing in the rear of the officer of the day. 
The little tremor which the novelty of the situation 
had given me, however, was shaken off as I proceeded 
with the inspection, and I went through with it and 
marched in review without an error. The ceremony 
of relieving the old guard was just concluded when I 
was summoned to the adjutant's office by an orderly. 
I went at once, and was informed that an order had 
been received from the Secretary of War directing 
that I be examined, with a view to promotion, by a 
board of officers to be appointed for that purpose by 
the colonel ; that the board was already appointed, and 
I was to appear before it at eleven o'clock. It was 
now ten. 

"Suppose I decline the examination," I said to the 
adjutant (Robert Ransom, afterwards j\Iajor General 
of the Confederate Army, of honored memory). "I 
have never graduated in mathematics. I have not 
seen a text-book in over a year." 

125 



IN BARRACK AND fIeLD. 

He replied kindly, saying that the order was from 
the Secretary of War, and that he did not suppose 
I would be permitted to decline. 

At II A.M. I reported to the board of examiners: 
Lieut.-Col. Joseph E. Johnston (Chairman), Surgeon 
Cuyler, and Capt. William S. Walker. The very nat- 
ural surprise at the situation in which I found myself, 
as well as the diffidence of youth, of which I had my 
full share, placed me at serious disadvantage. The 
kind manner of the chairman, however, soon put me 
as much at ease as it was possible for me to be under 
the circumstances. The subjects of the examination 
included the Constitution and History of the United 
States, the Law of Nations, Geography, Mathematics, 
and Natural Philosophy. 

I believe I had a fair knowledge of the Constitu- 
tion, and was familiar with the salient points of the 
history of our country. I had read Blackstone on the 
Common Law, and Vattel on the Law of Nations. I 
was at home in geography, and had but an indifferent 
acquaintance with natural philosophy. I frankly told 
the committee that I knew nothing of mathematics 
beyond geometry, and but little of that. 

The examination was suspended at dinner call and 
resumed in the afternoon. Colonel Johnston did most 
of the questioning ; and when he had gone through the 
several subjects as far as he desired, he invited ex- 
pressions from the other members of the board as to 
whether there was any reason for not closing. Cap- 
tain Walker arose from his seat and said, in sub- 
stance, that he was satisfied and willing to recommend 
the promotion of the candidate. Surgeon Cuyler sug- 

126 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

gested an adjournment to another day in order that 
the candidate might write something for their inspec- 
tion. This proposition was accepted, and it was sug- 
gested that I write a statement or account of the 
course of studies I had pursued and of the books I 
had read. 

When the board met next day, Capt. Delos B. 
Sackett appeared in the place of Captain Walker. 
The writing was submitted to the board, and after it 
had been inspected Captain Sacket proceeded to ques- 
tion me on branches of mathematics of which I had 
disclaimed any certain knowledge. He succeeded in 
so confusing me that the little acquaintance I had 
with the elements of geometry was utterly unavail- 
able for the occasion. This was the end of it. I 
know not what report was made. I was informed by 
a clerk in the adjutant's office that Colonel Sumner's 
indorsement on the report was in these words : "This 
candidate is too young and too inexperienced in the 
details of the service for promotion." With this in- 
dorsement it went to the War Office, where it was 
pigeonholed, and no further action was taken upon it. 

As the question of promotion from the ranks is one 
of some importance in itself, and of no little interest in 
military circles, the writer proposes to make here some 
comments. More than forty-nine years having 
elapsed since the occasion related, he believes he can 
vliscuss it as dispassionately as if he had not been an 
actor in the farce. For the purpose in hand, he will 
consider the young man who appeared before the 
board of examination in 1856 as a person in whom 
lie hrifl no particular interest. 

127 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

If the Secretary of War, in inditing his order in this 
case, had, instead of the words ''vv^ith a view to his 
promotion," written "examined with a view to avoid 
his promotion," and added the words, "it being the 
determined poHcy of this department to discourage 
promotion from the ranks," his order had been more 
consistent with the method of procedure adopted. 

The act of Congress authorizing promotion from 
the ranks does, or did, if my memory is not at fault, 
provide for the examination by a board of officers of 
any soldier who may on account of meritorious con- 
duct be recommended for promotion by his command- 
ing officer. But this was not a case under the act of 
Congress. The candidate was not recommended by 
his commanding officer, but by the Legislature of the 
great State of Georgia. The order for his examina- 
tion, therefore, while possibly within the legal discre- 
tion of the Secretary of War, was clearly an act of 
supererogation. Certain facts disclosed in the forego- 
ing account of the case suggest with emphasis the pur- 
pose of avoiding a compliance with the recommenda- 
tion. Why was the examination so hastily entered upon 
that the candidate was given barely an hour for prep- 
aration ? Why was the one officer who expressed him- 
self satisfied with the young man's proficiency re- 
moved from the board and Captain Sackett put on? 

The First Cavalry, the regiment to which the young 
man belonged, was, with three others, raised the year 
before, and had a large proportion of officers ap- 
pointed from civil life. There were four captains 
thus appointed to this regiment. None of these offi- 
cers were subjected to the ordeal of examination. It 

T28 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

is no disparagement of their worth to say that hardly 
one of them could have passed a critical examination 
on all the subjects prescribed. Some of them would 
have failed on every one of them. Why, then, should 
this young soldier be subjected to the trying ordeal ? 

Let us examine a moment Colonel Sumner's in- 
dorsement on the report of the board : "This candidate 
is too young and too inexperienced in the details of 
the service for promotion." Was this true, in the light 
of the fact that a number of young men held com- 
missions in the regiment who, until they joined it, 
had never seen a military encampment, and were 
totally ignorant of tactics? The candidate was twen- 
ty-two years of age, had been over twelve months a 
sergeant in the service, and had been drilled in the 
manual of arms and company evolutions in his boy- 
hood. But Colonel Sumner probably reasoned that if 
the government, under pressure of the influence of 
powerful politicians, had made the mistake of com- 
missioning men ignorant of the details of the service, 
that fact put him under no obligation to become a 
party to a like error. He was in full accord with the 
Secretary of War in his opposition to promotion from 
the ranks, and, whether the wishes of that functionary 
had been intimated to him or not, he was perfectly 
aware that his unfavorable indorsement would meet 
with the approval of the head of the War Office. 
From these considerations, which seem to spring nat- 
urally from the history of the case, it is apparent that 
the failure of the young man to get a commission was 
attributable solely to his being an enlisted man. I 
would not discourage patriotism, but boys who as- 
9 129 



IN BARRACK ANU FIELD. 

pire to a military career cannot too early learn that the 
way to a commission in the arm}* does not lie through 
a recruiting station. 



UNDER ARREST. 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., 
March, 1857. 

The ways in which authority is exercised by men 
in power are as various as their mental and moral 
characteristics. The demeanor of an officer toward 
his men depends, in some degree, doubtless, upon his 
early training, and much upon self-discipline, by 
which, aided by the study of correct models, one may 
acquire that suavity of manner which, under all cir- 
cumstances, marks the gentleman. It is true that one 
who has the feelings of a gentleman may be abrupt 
in speech, and of stern demeanor, for there are dia- 
monds in the rough. If such a one be an officer, 
his want of suavity is unfortunate for his subordi- 
nates — more unfortunate for himself. It is true, also, 
that one having little or no claim to those qualities 
of heart and mind which are the foundation of true 
gentility may, by force of acquired habit, observe or- 
dinarily the laws of good breeding ; but such a man, 
wanting the innate principles of refinement, cannot at 
all times conceal, under the cloak of habit, his little- 
ness of soul. His suppressed natural boorishness will 
assert itself and betray him. 

The most perfect subordination is not inconsistent 
with a tender regard for tl^e self-respect of the sub- 

130 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ordinate. The wise teacher appeals to the reason of 
his pupil, to his common sense, his self-esteem, his 
love of approbation, and governs successfully without 
corporal punishment, except in rare instances. His 
pupils recognize in him a friend, they give him their 
confidence, they obey with pleasure. 

On the other hand, the teacher who, ignorant of 
right methods of inspiring respect in children, appeals 
to their animal nature, their fear, their sense of 
shame, must govern by brute force, for he can gov- 
ern in no other way. The usual result to the pupil is : 
First, crushing humiliation ; and, secondly, bitter re- 
sentment, followed by stubborn insubordination. Sol- 
diers and children are quick to recognize the qualities 
of those who are set over them ; and the officer who, 
while mindful of the dignity that belongs to his of- 
fice, tempers his authority by moderation in enforcing 
it, which shows that he recognizes the human nature 
in his inferiors, finds the intelligent soldier ever ready 
to respond with dutiful respect and unquestioning 
obedience. 

Immersed in reveries that carry your mind a thou- 
sand miles from your surroundings, you unconscious- 
ly pass Captain Sackelt without saluting. You are 
recalled by his gently saying. "Won't you touch your 
cap, Sergeant?" and you heartily and honestly respond, 
"With pleasure, Captain !" Under like circumstances, 
passing Captain Bobadil, you are startled into a lively 
sense of your environment by the angry utterance. 
"Look here ! Next time you pass me without saluting. 
I'll have you court-martialed!" and you rejoin in your 

131 



IN BARRACK AND*FIELD. 

heart, while your Hps are silent, *'I salute your shoul- 
der straps." 

Orderly Sergeant Voss, of Company Blank, had the 
unenviable reputation of a martinet and a toady. Im- 
agine a man obsequious to his superiors to a degree 
bordering on servility, supercilious toward his in- 
feriors, never hesitating to 

"Crook the pregnant hinges of the knee 
Where thrift may follow fawning," 

never extending mercy to a subordinate who is so 
unlucky as to be detected in a lapse of duty, puffed up 
with an overweening sense of his importance and of 
his official dignity, domineering in his manner, harsh 
in the exercise of authority, and you have before you 
the impression with which Sergeant Voss had in- 
spired his enemies. 

The natural and usual effect of unnecessary severity 
in the government of men is to arouse a spirit of in- 
subordination. And such was the result in the case 
of our sergeant. One evening after dark, when pass- 
ing the quarters adjacent to his own, some men in 
whom he had stirred uncontrollable resentment fell 
upon him and beat him severely. But for the inter- 
ference of cooler heads, who, attracted by his cries, 
rushed upon the scene, his supply of wind for future 
storming might have been cut off forever. 

Doubtless these imprudent young men only intended 
to give the Sergeant a mild drubbing, by way of re- 
minder. But, as old soldiers very well know, the op- 
erations of a fight are not always carried on in ac- 
cordance with the original plan. Sometimes the oth- 
er fellow is contrary and interposes obstacles that ren- 

132 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

der a change of schedule necessary, and some other 
times Passion takes control and runs the fight in his 
own wild way. 

It transpired that two noncommissioned officers — 
a sergeant and a corporal — neither of them members 
of Sergeant Voss's company, had participated in the 
affair. They were arrested, put in irons, and locked 
up in a guardhouse cell. A charge of mutiny was 
preferred against them, and an order issued requir- 
ing that they be kept in ''close confinement" — that is, 
not be permitted to go outside of the prison for any 
purpose. 

The prison room was about ten by twenty feet, ex- 
clusive of the cells, which opened into it at one end. 
Prisoners in close confinement were permitted to come 
out of their cells to exercise here at certain hours ev- 
ery day. The only entrance was by a door opening 
into the guardroon% which was always in charge of 
a noncommissioned officer, and usually occupied by 
the men of the guard while waiting their turn to go 
on post. At the opposite end of the house was a 
small apartment known as the officers' room. A 
veranda, reached by a flight of steps at one end, ex- 
tended across the entire front. Below was a large 
basement room with dirt floor, known as the ''bull 
pen." The "guardhouse rats" — as chronic offenders 
who were often undergoing sentence were called in 
soldier parlance — usually occupied this room. Here 
also were occasionally found the poor fellows who, 
now and then, happened to mix too much sutler's 
goods with their water. 

Some time after the imprisonment of the two non- 
133 



IN BARRACK AND rtELD. 

commissioned officers, I was detailed one day for 
guard duty. A commissioned officer usually com- 
manded, but on this occasion no officer appeared, and 
the command devolved on me as senior sergeant. It 
was the first time I had mounted guard, or at least 
the first time I had commanded the guard, since the 
two young mutineers had been committed to prison. 
The retiring commandant of the guard having given 
me the standing orders, I divided the guard into re- 
liefs, repeated to the noncommissioned officers the 
usual orders of the day, and, placing one of them in 
charge of the guardroom, took my place in the offi- 
cers' room. Occasionally during the day I looked 
into the guardroom and the prison. Sometime in 
the afternoon, while a corporal was in charge of the 
room, upon going through I missed our mutineer 
prisoners. Turning to the corporal, I said: ''Where 
are Blank and Blank?" 

'They are gone to the rear in charge of a sentinel." 

"How long have they been gone?" 

He could not tell. I requested him to go at once 
and see about them. During his absence I learned 
from members of the guard that the two prisoners 
had presented themselves at the door between the 
prison and guardroom, and. calling the corporal, 
said, "We want to go to the rear," or "Want a sentinel 
to go with us to the rear;" that while the corporal 
was looking about, evidently with a view to selecting 
a man to send out with them, the sergeant had said: 
"Johnson will go with us." 

"All right," said the corporal, and Johnson had ac- 
cordingly gone. They had selected their own guard. 

134 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

After learning this, I did not expect their return. I 
awaited the return of the corporal of the guard until 
my patience was exhausted, when at last he was seen 
leisurely approaching. Upon hearing his report that 
he could not find them, I sent the junior sergeant of 
the guard in haste to report the facts to the officer of 
the day. In a little while he returned with an order, 
in form and substance substantially as follows : 

Fort Leavenworth, Kans., , i8. . 

To Sergeant J. B. Beall, Commandant of the Guard. 

You will turn the command of the guard over to 
the junior sergeant of the guard, take a file of the 
guard and follow the men who have escaped and bring 
them back. 

(Signed) T. J. Wood, 

Captain First Cavalry and Officer of the Day. 

Selecting two men on whom I felt that I could rely, 
and directing them to get their horses as quickly as 
they could and meet me at a place designated, I hur- 
ried to the stable, and very soon was galloping back 
to the appointed rendezvous. I had left the stable but 
a few paces when I saw the tall form of Colonel Sum- 
ner approaching from the left, with terrible strides, 
the line of my direction. Of course I did not know 
that he intended speaking to me, and while he was yet 
a score of yards from my path I was about to pass 
him when he accosted me with: "Hold on there. Ser- 
geant !" His tone was not reassuring. I brought my 
horse up so suddenly as to almost throw him on his 
haunches. 

I do not know whether others who served under 
Colonel Sumner have observed that when he wished 

135 



IN BARRACK AND F^ELD. 

to appear particularly severe he had a way of look- 
ing as if taking aim at you over the end of his nose. 
On this occasion, as he strode up to me, his great 
mustache seemed fairly bristling. Throwing his head 
back as he came near, he said: "Sergeant, how'd you 
let those men get away, sir?" He spoke rapidly, and 
with the emphasis of strong feeling. I replied, stat- 
ing the facts briefly and as rapidly as possible, look- 
ing the ,while into the stern eyes which he kept fixed 
upon me for the humane feeling which I knew to be 
in the old veteran's heart, though hidden under the 
veil of sternness woven by habit. When I had fin- 
ished my statement, raising his right arm, his fore- 
finger extended, he exclaimed, emphasizing every 
word by a shake of his head and that extended right 
hand and forefinger, ''Now you'd better bring 'em 
back!" — a slight pause, as if to get a better grip on 
the emphasis — "I tell you, sir, you'd better bring 'em 
back!" 

I think I knew ''Old Bull of the Woods" better 
than some of the men who had served with him much 
longer. In fact, I believe most of the men were 
afraid of him. I did not believe that any man who 
intended to discharge his duty to the best of his 
ability had any reason to fear him. I was satisfied 
that he suspected me of conniving at the escape of 
these men. I knew he was mistaken, and did not 
doubt that he would find it out. So I failed utterly 
to feel tlie trepidation which his manner and words 
might have been expected to produce, as I said quiet- 
ly, "I will do the best I can, sir," and with a parting 
salute galloped on. 

136 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Joining the two men, I told them to follow me, and 
dashed out into the road leading to Leavenworth City. 
We returned about ten o'clock that night, mud-bespat- 
tered from head to heel. It is needless to say that we 
did not "bring 'em back, sir;" nor did we get any 
trace whatever of the fugitives. Upon being relieved 
from guard next morning, I was directed by the offi- 
cer of the day to consider myself under arrest. 

A General Court-Martial. 

The laws governing the army of the United States 
provide for general courts-martial for the trial of per- 
sons charged with the more serious offenses against 
the rules and regulations, for regimental courts-mar- 
tial, which have a more limited jurisdiction, and for 
garrison courts-martial, the jurisdiction of which is 
restricted to offenses committed within the boundaries 
of the post whose commandant orders the assembling 
of the court. 

Sometime in March, 1857, a general court-martial 
assembled at Fort Leavenworth in pursuance of orders 
from department headquarters. In due time I was 
notified to appear before this court for trial upon the 
charge of "neglect of duty," with specifications duly 
set forth in a copy accompanying the notice. Colonel 
Sumner was president, and the twelve members of the 
court were of different regiments and arms, but my 
impression is that the First Cavalry had a larger rep- 
resentation than any other regiment. They were an 
unusually intelligent body of men, and as I looked 
into their faces on being arraigned I felt that they 
were without prejudice. I entered a plea of "not 



IN BARRACK AND F1A.D. 

guilty," and the trial proceeded. When the Judge 
Advocate finished the examination of each witness on 
the part of the government, he would ask in my be- 
half such questions or cross-questions as I suggested. 
Such witnesses as I wished were called and exam- 
ined, and I took notes of the testimony. When the 
examination was concluded, the Judge Advocate asked 
me if I wanted time to prepare a defense. I replied 
that I should regard it as a kindness if the court would 
grant it. 

"How much time would you like to have?" 
"I suppose I could be ready in an hour." 
''Well," he said, "you had better take until to- 
morrow morning." 

''That will be better, if the court will favor me so 
much." 

The court granted the time, the president speaking 
for all, and no one objecting. 

I kept no copy of my written defense, but the main 
points were these: 

1. That I had not been on guard, before the time 
to which the charges related, since the arrest of the 
prisoners in question, and could therefore have had 
no knowledge of an order requiring their ''close con- 
finement," unless it was communicated to me by my 
predecessor in command of the guard. 

2. The government had failed to show by the offi- 
cer of the guard whom I relieved that he had turned 
over this particular order to me. His testimony, 
shows him to have been in doubt about it himself. 

3. It appears, moreover, from the testimony that 
the irons had been removed from these prisoners some 

138 



TN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

time before, and that it has not heretofore been cus- 
tomary to keep in close confinement prisoners from 
whom the shackles have been taken. The defendant 
could not, therefore, presume the existence of such an 
order. 

I might rest my case on the proposition that an 
officer cannot be held responsible for failure to en- 
force an order which does not appear, either by posi- 
tive proof or by fair presumption, to have been brought 
to his knowledge. But the evidence shows that I had, 
in the conscientious discharge of duty, placed a cor- 
poral in charge of the guardroom, and that he took 
the responsibility of allowing these prisoners to leave 
the guardhouse under the escort of a sentinel. 

Upon this I respectfully submit the question wheth- 
er, under any circumstances, the commandant of the 
guard may be held responsible for the act of a sub- 
ordinate done without his knowledge or consent. 

When the Judge Advocate had read my defense, I 
retired to aw^ait, as patiently as circumstances would 
allow, the judgment of the court. The orderly at- 
tending the court gratified me by informing me, con- 
fidentially, after the court had adjourned for the day, 
that, judging from expressions uttered by several 
members after I had retired, my defense had been 
favorably received. The president of the court, espe- 
cially, had spoken of it in flattering terms. 

The proceedings of coVts-martial are written out — 
the charges and specifications in each case, the plea, 
the evidence, and the findings of the court, signed by 
the Judge Advocate and transmitted to the headquar- 
ters from which the orders convening the court ema- 

139 



IN BARRACK AND FI^LD. 

nated. Here they are reviewed and approved or dis- 
approved by the commanding officer or a member of 
his staff, in his name. Not until the court has done 
its work and adjourned are its judgments made known 
by the promulgation of its proceedings in general or- 
ders. In my case, the reviewing officer was the De- 
partment Commander, whose headquarters were at 
St. Louis. I therefore expected that it would be sev- 
eral weeks before I should know the result of the trial. 

An officer or a noncommissioned officer under ar- 
rest is not permitted to perform any military duty. 
But if he is fond of books and can procure them, es- 
pecially when there is no fighting going on in which 
his comrades may win laurels while he is fretting 
under bonds, he need not necessarily find the time 
irksome. He employs it in reading, writing letters, 
scribbling in a diary, some conversation, and an un- 
usual amount of reflection, if not in close arrest — 
that is, restricted to quarters — he has the privilege of 
going anywhere within the limits of the garrison. 
This privilege I enjoyed, after twenty-five days of 
close arrest, and availed myself of it to visit places of 
interest, the chief of which, to me, was the post li- 
brary. But after fifteen days of this restricted lib- 
erty I found it pleasant to resume my military duties, 
it appearing from general orders promulgating the 
court proceedings that I had been acquitted. 

A few extracts from my diary will give an idea 
of the writer's methods of killing time under the cir- 
cumstances : 

March i. Under arrest since the 6th ult. 
Mar. 3. Released from close arrest and allowed the 
140 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

limits of the garrison. A clerk of the A. G. O. tells 
me to let my mind be entirely at ease relative to my 
arrest. So I will ; and my body too. 

March 4. Saw two prisoners taking a drunken sen- 
tinel to the guardhouse, escorted bv a corporal and 
file of the guard. Very gloomy day. Night clear 
and cold. Attended last night the performance of 
the Fort Leavenworth Dramatic Association ; actors 
all drunk. 

March 5. Received two months' pay, which I find 
insufficient to meet demands. First Cavalry armed 
with the movable breech carbine. 

March 9. Mailed letter to mother and a book to 
Mary. Bought a copy of "Scenes and Adventures 
in the Army," bv Philip St. George Cooke, Lieutenaii';- 
Colonel Second Dragoons. 

March 11. The sun is sinking in the west, and for 
the first time within my mem.ory I find myself alone 
in the company squad room. No, not alone. Certain 
nasal sounds issuing from a bunk near remind me 
that I have companv in the person of a Mr. Tutt. 
And who is Mr. Tutt? An old acquaintance and 
schoolmate of Captain Anderson. Nurtured in a 
Southern clime, his intellect fostered in a favorite, 
popular college, he is now a human wreck, and has 
wandered thither to enlist in the army, that dernier 
rcssort of the unfortunate. Thus the path which one 
seeks through a spirit of adventure, or patriotism, or 
worthy ambition, is sought by another from dire ne- 
cessity. Luxury and Pleasure sit in the same car 
with Poverty and Sorrov/. The one contemplates 
with delight or with awe the beauty and grandeur of 
nature ; the other wonders how he shall obtain another 
supper. 

March 12. Commenced reading Macaulay's ''En- 
gland," Volume IIL, having taken something very 
like distaste for Colonel Cooke's description of prai- 
rie scenes. I begin to think there is a sameness in 

141 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

the Colonel's reveries. Yet he no doubt discovers 
and has a high appreciation of many beauties in na- 
ture which are hidden from more careless or less in- 
tellectual observers, and there are many very touch- 
ing passages in his work. 

March 13. A squad of recruits joined this morn- 
ing. To avoid the confusion, I retired to the library, 
and spent the morning with IMacaulay. After dinner 
smoked and read a chapter of Cooke. Thought him 
prudent in letting poetry alone at three stanzas, but, 
upon the whole, was well pleased with the chapter. 
Lit my pipe and walked out to a little knoll a few 
hundred yards south of the fort. It is a beautiful 
spot, or rather a spot favored by a beautiful view of 
surrounding scenery. There on the north side of the 
plaza, seem.ingly in the edge of a forest of cottonwood, 
its faded green front almost hidden by the foliage, 
stands the residence of the commanding officer. It is 
flanked on each side by buildings which, from their 
situation among the forest trees of cottonwood and 
elm and their rude structure, present such a pic- 
turesque blending, half rural, half urban, and all 
charming under the shifting lights and shadows, that 
one cannot but wish he were an artist with power to 
perpetuate the scene on canvas. To the right is a com- 
pact row of barracks, fronting which the parade falls 
with a graceful slope to the base of a little octagonal 
magazine, that, with its corners of granite and its 
blue panels, surmounted by a circular roof, is set like 
a gem in the center. Beyond and over all the flag 
of our Union flutters in the breeze, half like a stray 
fragment of some golden cloud resting in the distant 
sky, far above the horizon. 

March 17. Restless and little inclined to read. At-, 
tended a funeral. Taps is sounding, and I must to 
bed, though I would much like to finish a chapter of 
Cooke. 

March 18. Released from arrest, having been ac- 
142 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

quitted of the charges preferred against me on the 
6th ultimo. 

March 19. Twenty-four years of age to-day. The 
spring of Hfe past, winter threatens to usurp the place 
of summer. To-day I witnessed the punishment of 
a deserter, who was flogged and drummed out of the 
service. 

March 21. On guard. Very cheerful in the morn- 
ing : but now, in the evening, after the desertion of 
a sentinel and the loss of three prisoners, I feel that 
there must be some truth in the saying, with which 
every one greets me, that I v/as born under an un- 
lucky star. This is the second case for me in the 
month's experience. But as an officer commands the 
guard this time, I suppose I will not be called to 
account. 



A NIGHT SCENE IN THE GUARDHOUSE. 

Heavens ! What a confusion of voices ! There is 
a fight among the prisoners. Forty men packed into 
the little room, in Cimmerian darkness. 

"Sergeant of the guard!"' "Sergeant of the 
guard !" 

How that call rings in my ears like the voice of 
despair! I hasten to throw open the door. A group 
of prisoners crowd up in front of it, barring my en- 
trance. As I press forward an unseen hand snatches 
the candle from me. Another is brought. A man 
wedged in the center of the group thrusts out his 
hand to seize it. Quick as he is, the hilt of my saber 
comes in contact with his chin, and he fails of his 
purpose, and now they give way and I enter. One 
man has been cruelly beaten, and his face is bruised 
and bloody. The wretches who have perpetrated the 

143 



IN BARRACK AND FI^LD. 

villainy, under the cloak of darkness, are snoring ( ?) 
under their blankets. 

The freshman at college is sometimes subjected to 
hazing; the guardhouse prisoner is initiated among 
the old offenders by a "rolling." In the stillness of 
the night he feels a hand exploring the vicinity of his 
pocket ; he attempts to rise ; a blanket is clapped over 
his head and he is held until the rifling of his pockets 
is completed. If he attemipts to cry out, he is smoth- 
ered; if he resists, he is beaten. A wholesome fear 
of the result of arousing the vengeful feelings of his 
persecutors insures his silence afterwards, at least so 
long as he remains a prisoner. In fact, it rarely hap- 
pened that the offenders could be identified. 



BLEEDING KANSAS. 

In the troublous times of 1856, when Eastern fanat- 
icism and Southern folly were rampant in Kansas, 
the First Cavalry and the Second Dragoons were em- 
ployed in trying to keep the people from cutting each 
other's throats and devastating the country with fire. 
The troops were distributed among the settlements in 
detachments, a company here and a squadron there. 
Captain Anderson's company was encamped for a 
while in the beautiful valley of the Wakarusa. While 
at this camp the writer, with Private McLean and 
another, was sent out in pursuit of two deserters 
who had taken French leave during the night before 
with horses, arms, and equipments. 

144 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



Saved by a Flash. 



It was late in the evening of the second day of our 
pursuit when, having- followed the road leading to 
Kansas City to a point seven or eight miles east of 
Bull Head Tavern, and having lost all trace of the 
fugitives, we decided to abandon the pursuit. This 
decision was hastened by the appearance of dark 
banks of clouds rising to the eastward and a sultry 
stillness of the atmosphere, portentous of heavy rain 
and high wind. 

Turning about, we began to retrace our steps, feel- 
ing that we had done our duty in good faith, but not 
at all sorry that the men had escaped us. The soldier 
gets little credit for arresting a deserter in time of 
peace, and the punishment by the lash is a sorrowful 
scene to witness. 

When about five miles from Bull Head Tavern, 
which was visible from the summit of a ridge, it 
looked as if we might reach shelter before the storm 
would break upon us. But the wind had risen and 
the clouds now came on with such rapidity that, when 
we reached the crown of the next ridge, the plain 
beyond was all obscured; and though we moved at a 
brisk gallop, we had proceeded hardly a mile when 
almost total darkness enveloped us, and we had to 
trust our horses to follow the road. When perhaps 
a fourth of a mile from the tavern, the rain burst 
upon us. 

Thinking only of getting under shelter as quickly 
as possible, we dashed on, around the corner of an 
inclosure extending out some four hundred feet in 
10 145 



IN BARRACK AND f lELD. 

front of the house, down a slight rocky declivity, and 
were crossing a slough at the bottom when suddenly 
the whole scene was lit up by a blaze of lightning. It 
was but an instant, but I saw plainly by that flash a 
line of men drawn up in the piazza of the tavern, 
about a hundred feet away. It took but a few leaps 
of our horses to carry us to the gate, where, quickly 
dismounting, I threw the reins to a man or boy who 
had come out, and walked immediately into the piazza. 
The landlord met me, apologized for having no light, 
and said he would have the house lighted directly. 
The men who had a moment before lined the piazza 
from end to end had disappeared like magic. Nor 
did I see that night or the next morning any others 
about the place than the three or four men and boys 
who seemed to belong there. 

My comrades, after seeing our horses provided for, 
joined me in the house. We were served with a sub- 
stantial supper, and soon afterwards went to sleep 
with pistols buckled on. Next morning, after an 
early breakfast, we took horse and rode on to our 
encampment on the Wakarusa, where we arrived 
without further adventure. 

In the summer of '57, about a year after the events 
related, I was with Joe Johnston's command on the 
Cimarron, where a supply train reached us. While 
conversing with some of the men belonging to this 
train, a man who had accompanied it approached and 
spoke to me, calling me by name. I could not place 
him, and asked him where we had met. He then 
reminded me of my adventure at Bull Head Tavern. 

146 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD, 

"Do you know," said he, "that you had a narrow 
escape from being fired on that night?" 

"How was that?" 

"Well, it was the lightning that saved you. You 
see, the Jayhawkers had been threatenin' to burn out 
the place, and the proprietor had reason to expect an 
attack that night. So he had notified our folks for 
several miles around, and a number of them had gath- 
ered there to help defend the premises. Of course 
you could not be seen as you came galloping down 
the road, and the noise made by your heavily shod 
horses, clattering over the rocks, seemed to us, ex- 
cited as we were, like that of a score or so, instead of 
three horses. Twenty men had taken their places in 
the piazza — some with double-barreled shotguns, some 
with rifles — and were ready with guns cocked, aimin' 
to shoot just as you reached the lowest point in the 
hollow. Just in the nick of time, that flash of light- 
nin' showed you three fellows down there just as 
plain's I can see you now. Instantly every gun went 
up, and the men filed through the door and into the 
house. Some of them were stowed away in the kitch- 
en, others upstairs and in other rooms, so that you 
saw nothing of them. I tell you, sir, it was a close 
call for you, an' no mistake." 



THE FIGHT AT FRANKLIN. 

Company I lay encamped on the Wakarusa, five or 
six miles from the villages of Lawrence and Franklin. 
The latter was then a mere hamlet of perhaps a dozen 
residences and stores, with a post oflice and an unfin- 

147 



IN BARRACK AND fi^IELD. 

ished hotel, distant from the former some three or 
four miles. 

We were aroused one morning about three o'clock 
by the bugle sounding reveille. ''Boots and saddles" 
quickly followed, and we were soon galloping away 
toward Franklin. A man, l)areheaded and coatless, 
and wet to his waist with the dew, had come into 
camp and reported that Franklin had been attacked by 
several hundred men from Lawrence; that about a 
dozen of the villagers, among them a United States 
marshal, had shut themselves in a little hewed log 
cabin and were making a brave but hopeless defense, 
the assailants having at least one piece of artillery; 
and that he had been sent by the marshal to ask the 
assistance of the cavalry. He had passed out at the 
rear of the cabin and escaped the observation of the 
enemy by crawling into the tall prairie grass which 
grew up close to the back yard. 

We came in sight of the village a little before the 
sun glanced over the prairies from the eastern hills. 
In the distance there was no sign of battle. We 
halted at the upper end of the one street of the lit- 
tle hamlet, and as Captain Anderson rode forward 
some half score of forlorn-looking men came out to 
meet him and tell the sad tale of their gallant defense 
and final defeat. 

On discovering the approach of an armed force esti- 
mated to be from one hundred and fifty to two hun- 
dred men, the few Southern men in the village, resolv- 
ing not to be driven from their homes by a mob 
without making such resistance as lay in their pow- 
er, had assembled with such arms as they had in a 

148 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

small log cabin that stood about the middle of the 
hamlet, at one side of the street. It was no mean posi- 
tion for a small force. The house was built of logs 
hewn square and well fitted together, and had a stout 
door shutter, on each side of which there was a small, 
square window. These windows served as portholes, 
and commanded the street for some distance to the 
right and left, as well as directly in front. It was 
flanked on the right by a small frame building, in 
which the post office was kept, and on the left by a 
large two-story frame in process of erection, the floor 
not having yet been put down. In the rear the cabin 
had the protection of a small framed addition which 
was used as a kitchen. From this appendage there 
was a door by which one could go into the unfinished 
house on the left without direct exposure to fire from 
the street. The position was on the south side of the 
street, whose direction was east and west. The mob 
began the attack from a position at the upper or west 
end of the street, their line extending across the street 
northeast, with flankers and sharpshooters deployed 
on their right and left. Having ascertained the posi- 
tion of the villagers, they concentrated their fire on 
the front of the cabin, and kept it up with such rapid- 
ity that the men at the windows were in imminent 
peril; yet they stood at their posts, firing whenever 
a fair aim was possible. Two men went around into 
the unfinished house on the left, and for a while did 
effective work. Thus the defense was maintained 
for hours. The marshal received a bullet in his 
shoulder. A lady who, with her child, lay on the 
floor under a bed (a position which the men had urged 

149 



IN BARRACK AND 5IELD. 

her to take, not only that she and the child might be 
as much as possible out of danger, but also that she 
might not embarrass their movements in the little 
room) was painfully wounded by a shot in the foot. 

At length the leaders of the mob, despairing of dis- 
lodging the little band of defenders by the use of 
their rifles, decided to use more effective means. 
That they did not resort to their field gun, if they 
had one, was doubtless owing to the proximity of the 
cavalry, whose attention would be attracted by its re- 
port. The flames of burning houses might be vis- 
ible at some distance, but they could not be heard even 
as far as could the roar of the rifles. Arson is an of- 
fense a degree less heinous than murder. He that is 
ready to commit the one will not halt at the other un- 
less restrained by fear. 

This, then, was their plan : A wagon was loaded with 
dry hay. A sufficient number of men to move it easily 
backed it into the street, and up against the front of the 
post office, taking care, as they moved, to keep it well 
between them and the windows of the little strong- 
hold. A lighted match was touched to the dry straw, 
and as the fire crept upward its light flashed across 
the windows of the cabin, striking despair into the 
hearts of the brave men within. They saw now that 
the only alternative to surrender was to take the 
chances of being shot down in an effort to escape by 
the rear. Between the two they must choose prompt- 
ly, and they chose the latter. 

About fifty feet back of the cabin a plank fence 
extended along the edge of the yard, inclosing also, 
I think, the back yard of the adjoining lot. Appre- 

150 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

bending an attack from this point, it had been con- 
stantly observed by some of the villagers from the 
first. Early in the fight some of the enemy's flankers 
were seen to take position behind the fence. They 
soon found the position untenable, and moved around 
toward the front, one of them leaving great splotches 
of his blood where he had squatted. None of them 
had afterwards been seen in that direction. It was 
not likely they would leave this point unguarded long. 
No time was to be lost. The besieged, therefore, 
when they had decided to make the attempt to escape 
capture, passed quickly out at the back of the house, 
dashed across the yard, over the fence, and away into 
the darkness. 

The fight was now ended. 

I am not informed whether the leaders of the mob 
ordered their men to put out the fire they had started, 
or, having learned of the approach of the cavalry, 
hastily departed, leaving the fire to be extinguished by 
such villagers as had lain concealed during the fight. 

An inspection of the premises corroborated what 
the villagers told as to the serious character of the at- 
tack. The front of the log cabin was dotted all over 
with bullet holes, and the weatherboarding of the un- 
finished house was perforated in many places. The 
post office building was partially burned, but the fire 
had been subdued in time to prevent its extending to 
the adjoining buildings. 

151 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

DEMONSTRATION AGAINST LEG O MPT ON. 

A PART of the First Cavalry, under Lieut.-Col. J. E. 
Johnston, and a part of the Second Dragoons, under 
Lieut.-Col. Philip St. George Cooke, with one light 
battery, had been lying near Lecompton for some 
time, keeping a strong picket in the town. 

One morning at early dawn we were aroused by the 
bugles sounding the "assembly," followed by "boots 
and saddles," and in a few moments were trotting 
toward the village. As we ascended the ridge south 
of the town, we discovered a line of armed men drawn 
up on foot across the ridge. They were in single 
rank, and numbered about five hundred — of all ages, 
from the ruddy boy of sixteen to the white-haired 
fanatic of sixty, and of every variety of dress com- 
mon to the country. They manifested neither sur- 
prise nor the least concern at the approach of the cav- 
alry, and seemed equally indifferent when a section of 
the light battery was wheeled into position on their 
left, where a single discharge, properly aimed, would 
probably cut down half their entire line. Yet these 
men were no fools. They knew perfectly well that 
United States forces would not begin a fight with cit- 
izens, and they were equally aware that their own 
leaders were not in the habit of assaulting superior 
forces. Hence their present coolness. 

After a short colloquy between the Lawrence lead- 
ers and an officer sent forward by Colonel Cooke, these 
people moved off and disappeared over the hills to- 
ward Lawrence. Lecompton was saved for the pres- 
ent. "* 

152 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Such was the service of the cavalry in the time of 
the birth throes of the free State of Kansas. If a 
settlement devoted to destruction by the stronger party 
discovered their enemies' designs in time to secure the 
presence of troops for their protection, no hostile 
demonstration was made. If, as was the case at 
Franklin, the assault was a surprise, the cavalry ar- 
rived too late to be of service. 



'bran: 



Among the men of Company I was Private Bran, 
a man noted for both wit and drollery, and, when 
sober, for his obliging disposition. He often had 
little groups of comrades around him, roaring at his 
witty sallies or his droll parodies on popular songs. 
He would make any reasonable sacrifice for a friend, 
and a friend to him meant the man who needed the 
favor. 

But Bran loved his cup, and when under its in- 
fluence was disposed to be quarrelsome with people 
who had incurred his displeasure, and, under certain 
circumstances, even with his friends. He seemed, 
when drinking, to lack the faculty of perceiving the 
difference between a reasonable and an unreasonable 
request. If he asked a favor the granting of which 
would involve his friend in a breach of discipline and 
might subject him to severe penalties, he expected a 
compliance no less than if it were the simplest thing 
possible, and involving no risk or sacrifice whatever. 
He was often put under guard for trivial offenses, and 

153 



IN BARRACK AND FICLD. 

as often, when he could get to speak to the officer who 
had ordered his confinement, would, by some unex- 
pected witticism or drollery, set the officer to laugh- 
ing, and the interview would end with an order for 
his release. 

One night when drunk he went into the squad 
room next to that of his own company, gathered up 
three or four overcoats, brought them into the com- 
pany squad room, and there offered them for sale. 
This was a commercial transaction which did not meet 
the approval of the men whose property was thus 
offered at a bargain. They had no difficulty in tracing 
the goods and identifying both them and the purloiner. 
He made no effort at concealment. He had probably 
intended a practical joke, and was too drunk to see the 
danger of carrying it too far. So he was committed 
to the bull pen. 

What the bull pen is has been told in another place. 
One feature of it, however, was omitted in the former 
description. There was usually among the prisoners 
some one who had acquired such an ascendency over 
the others that among them his word was law, and 
he usually lorded it over his submissive subjects with 
a tyranny as absolute and unquestioned as that of a 
crowned despot. He had, too, his courtiers, who 
were ready to roar at his dullest joke, dance when 
he fiddled, and do the dirtiest work at his bidding; 
ready also, as cowardly cringers to power ever are, 
on the first intimation of the fall of their master, to 
transfer their allegiance to the rising power. Woe 
be to the unlucky prisoner who, ignorant of the laws 

154 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

of this little autocracy, dares to question the author- 
ity of the autocrat of the bull pen ! 

At the time of which we write, one Simpson held 
the reins and ruled with rigid sway. When Bran 
was committed to the pen, he was still under the in- 
fluence of his potations; and humiliated as he was by 
the consciousness of having unwittingly subjected 
himself to so grave a charge, he submitted to I know 
not what indignities at the hands of the autocrat. But 
he could get no liquor here, and with the return of 
sobriety reason began to resume its normal sway. 
With the return of reason his manhood began to as- 
sert itself. Low as he felt that he had fallen, he 
came of a race that ever hated tyrants and tyranny. 
His grandfather had attested his love of independence 
on many a hard-fought field in the ranks of the Revo- 
lutionary Whigs. Why should he now be the puppet 
of Simpson? 

One day Bran came to me, a sentinel with him, and 
told me that Simpson was persecuting him in every 
conceivable way ; that on that day at noon he ( Simp- 
son) had caught up a handful of dust and thrown it 
into his soup; that he was afraid to resent it, for if 
he got into a fight he would be tied up by the thumbs. 
"Besides," said he, "Simpson has a crowd to back him, 
and I have no one." 

I told him: "It would be an unheard-of thing 
for the number of Americans that are held in the 
pen to be brought together without including some 
who love fair play. If you sound them, you will 
doubtless find two or three resolute fellows who will 
stand by and see that you have a fair fight, because 

155 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

they hate Simpson's domineering spirit. You can 
whip Simpson ; and when you have done it, the crowd 
will be yours." 

On the very next day Simpson repeated the ex- 
periment of seasoning Bran's soup with dust from 
the dirt floor. "The "ha, ha's" of his cowardly satellites 
were cut short by what followed. Bran coolly took 
up his cup and dashed the contents into the autocrat's 
face. 

Simpson's first sensation was that of astonishment. 
"Is this the man who for a week has submitted to ev- 
ery insult that ingenuity could devise? And does he 
now dare me in this outrageous manner?" The 
thought was bewildering. He sprang upon Bran with 
the fury of a hungry tiger. The wondering crowd 
expected Bran to go down like a broken reed before 
a storm. Simpson was a powerful man, with muscles 
hardened by daily use, and the prestige of many 
months of lording it over all with whom he came in 
contact gave him self-reliance. 

Bran's advantage, if it was an advantage, of an 
inch or two in height was more than offset by his 
antagonist's superior weight. But he had the cour- 
age of desperation. Defeat to him meant total sub- 
jection to daily indignities during the whole time of 
his imprisonment. Victory meant freedom from the 
jeers and taunts by which his spirit had been galled 
from the time of his entry. He had something to 
fight for, and he was ready. When Simpson rushed 
upon him, he was met by a right-hander, which, tak- 
ing him on the left cheek, checked the impetuosity of 
his rush ; and before he could recover Bran had gripped 

156 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

him in a hug that ahnost took his breath. Bran was 
not skilled in boxing. He was aware of that, and 
had no notion of standing up to receive the sledge- 
hammer blows that Simpson knew so well how to give. 
His wiry frame was well adapted to wrestling. In 
that exercise he had never met a man of equal weight 
who could down him. So supple was he in body and 
limb that his antagonist knew not where to have him. 
Simpson exerted his great strength to the utmost to 
break Bran's forceful hug, but found himself lifted 
off his feet and slung around so that he had to give 
his mind to his best efforts to keep from being hurled 
to the earth. Understanding Bran's policy at once, 
he exerted himself so skillfully to defeat it that it 
looked as if the former's utmost skill would fail to 
throw him, notwithstanding the advantage gained in 
taking his "hold" at the outset. 

The crowd of prisoners, greatly excited, gathered 
around the contestants, and a number of Simpson's 
most officious satellites began to encourage him with 
such cries as "Go for him. Captain !" "Break his 
domned neck, the spalpeen, to insult the loikes o' you." 
Surprised and disappointed at the way in which Bran 
met the attack, they pressed forward, and seemed 
about to interfere, when a tall young fellow, who had 
since his incarceration been so quiet that he had scarce- 
ly been noticed, stepped before them and, his eyes 
blazing, said: "Stand back. The men here who love 
fair play are going to see that Bran has a white man's 
chance. If any of you fellows want to interfere now, 
just pitch in." 

"That's the talk." 

157 



IN BARRACK AND FgELD. 

'That's what I say." 

Such were the expressions that echoed around the 
room, not a man present being wilHng to put himself 
in the attitude of not being in favor of fair play. So 
they stood back, leaving a good space in the center 
for the combatants. For a while, as the struggle went 
on, there was a silence almost oppressive. 

Bran, perceiving that if the terrible struggle con- 
tinued much longer it would end in his being out- 
winded and beaten, resolved upon a feat very difficult 
of performance with a wary and powerful antagonist, 
but which, if successful, would most likely give him 
the victory. If it failed — well, he would take the 
chances. 

Round and round the little space and across and 
back the wrestlers writhed, sometimes one of them 
off his feet, looking as if his fall was inevitable, but 
coming down solid and lifting the other. At length, 
when Simpson had been lifted apparently higher than 
at any time before, Bran, bending far back, seemed to 
give way. The silence of the crowd was now broken 
by a murmur. "He's gone! he's gone!" was distinctly 
uttered in tones of disappointment. Bran was going 
down backward, the entire weight of his antagonist 
upon him. His head almost touched the ground. 
Suddenly, with lightning swiftness, their positions 
were almost completely reversed. Simpson's body 
flew over to Bran's left and struck the ground with a 
stunning force. Bran's left shoulder barely touched the 
soil. Throwing his legs across his antagonist's body, 
he lay squarely upon him, grasping Simpson's right 
wrist with his left hand, his own right hand free. 

158 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

For a moment both rested. Simpson seemed to 
have been winded by his fall ; and Bran, exhausted 
by his great effort, was glad to have a breathing space, 
ready at the first movement of his prostrate foe to 
renew the fight. But Simpson was beaten, a fact he 
made known in time to avert further punishment by 
simply saying: *'I give it up. Bran; you are the bet- 
ter man." 

The men who had suffered under the bullyism of 
Simpson could no longer restrain their long-sup- 
pressed emotions. They fairly yelled with delight. 
One brought to Bran a cup of water, another brushed 
the dust from his clothes. All who had not bowed 
at the shrine of the now humbled bully did everything 
they could to demonstrate their satisfaction. Bran 
was the hero of the hour, and henceforth the king 
of the pen. 

Bran's victory was fortunate in its results to all 
concerned. He wore his triumph so modestly, and 
used the influefice won by his valor so wisely, as to 
win encomiums from all quarters, and it is not at all 
improbable that it led to the withdrawal of the charges 
against him and his release from prison. The opin- 
ion of a few partial friends that the overcoat business 
was only a drunken frolic was accepted by all. So 
he quite recovered his standing in the squad room. 

The affair quite broke up bullyism in the bull pen 
for a long time. In this respect it was a Godsend to 
the less able-bodied and the peace-loving among pris- 
oners. But perhaps the highest benefit resulted to the 
fallen bully, Simpson. He changed his manner of 
life, and became as gentle in bearing as hitherto he had 

159 



IN BARRACK AND F^ELD. 

been rude. He betook himself to literature, and pur- 
sued it with a zeal worthy of success, devoting all his 
leisure the next winter to a work of fiction. I lost 
sight of him soon afterwards, and cannot say to what 
extent his labor was crowned with success, except that 
in employing himself in that direction he kept his feet 
from straying in ways forbidden to the orderly sol- 
dier. 



A FORAGER SURPRISED. 

Late one evening in the spring of 1856 the com- 
mandant at Fort Scott received information that a 
detachment of the notorious Montgomery's Jayhawk- 
ers was on a raid a few miles from the post, taking 
off or destroying stock, wagons, and whatsoever else 
it pleased their fancy to take or destroy. With the 
information there came also an urgent request from 
the citizens for protection. So Company I was de- 
tailed for the service, and was on the march in per- 
haps less than an hour after the messenger had dashed 
into the fort on his foam-flecked horse. Sometime 
after night we halted, and went into bivouac at the 
place of a Mr. Belford. Our commissary had not 
been provided with hard-tack. Supper had therefore 
to await the slow process of making bread. I think 
most of the men, after attending to their horses, be- 
took themselves to their blankets, preferring, after the 
wearying ride, to let appetite wait upon sleep. A 
few, however, were fortunate enough to obtain some- 

160 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

thing from the kitchen of Mr. B — , who entertained 
the company officers. 

A hasty breakfast by the Hght of bivouac fires next 
morning; then into the saddle and off again before 
day. All day, without rest, we rode over the beauti- 
ful prairie, from farm to farm, seeing very few peo- 
ple, and getting no definite information of the where- 
about of the raiders. Once, when there was a brief 
halt near a farmhouse, I got permission to leave the 
ranks, rode up to the house, and asked the people 
for some bread. I was getting sick with the hunger 
and the seven or eight hours in the saddle. I rode 
back to my place in the ranks, taking liberal bites from 
the edge of a corndodger — bread as delicious to my 
taste then as were the old-time ginger cakes I used 
to get on muster days when a boy. By the way, you 
can't get that sort of cake now. The good old wom- 
an who used to bake and sell them at the court and 
muster grounds about the country passed away when 
the railroads came, with steam bakeries and dry, sug- 
ary biscuit; and the poor boys of this day can never 
know the luxury of an old-fashioned ginger cake with 
persimmon or potato beer. I'm sorry for the boys — 
or maybe I'm just hungry. 

To resume the narrative, the company returned a 
little after dark to the place of bivouac of the night 
before. vSome men had been left in charge of the 
wagons and baggage. Tents ready-pitched and blaz- 
ing camp fires welcomed the returning troop. Very 
quickly the horses were tethered and fed, and the 
men, with pleasing anticipations of breaking their long 
fast, sat about in groups watching the preparations 
II i6i 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

for supper — most of them, not all, as the sequel will 
show. 

One of the sergeants was requested by a message 
to vacate for a few mintues the tent where he lay 
resting. Going out and strolling along the fence 
which formed one side of the lot in which the camp 
was pitched, he had scarcely passed beyond the light 
of the fires when he came upon two men in a cor- 
ner who seemed to be picking a^bird of some species. 
Slightly changing his direction, he walked down the 
slope to a little branch that could, in the stillness of 
the night, be heard rippling along across the lower 
end of the lot. Here he came upon some men who 
were evidently engaged in dressing some animal — 
perhaps a sheep or goat — which had been slaughtered. 
Turning sharply, he went off muttering: 'The fora- 
gers are out to-night. I wonder who they are, though. 
I cannot see well enough to tell if they be soldiers or 
not. It is very dark, very dark, indeed." The ser- 
geant returned to his tent in time to partake of an ex- 
cellent chicken stew. Where or how the cook got 
the material, he did not know. 

About the time of the occurrence of the incidents 
just related, two soldiers, one of them Jim by name, 
having the care of Captain A — 's horses (a member 
of an almost indispensable class of men known in 
soldier parlance as "dog robbers") had occasion to 
enter Mr. B — 's barn to get some fodder. Jim climbed 
into the loft, and, finding chickens there as well as 
fodder, began forthwith to wring off their heads and 
hand them down to his comrade. Meanwhile the 
comrade, becoming suddenly conscious that some one 

162 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was standing at his elbow, looked around and recog- 
nized the owner of the barn and the poultry. It im- 
mediately occurred to him that he had business else- 
where — business so urgent that he did not even stay 
to exchange greetings, nor to announce the arrival of 
the uninvited visitor. 

Jim, utterly oblivious to the fact that his friend 
had left a substitute in his place, continued to hand 
down the chickens very quietly, and Mr. B — just as 
quietly took and put them into a basket which hung 
on his arm. He had received three or four in this 
manner, when he was startled by the sudden squawk 
of a favorite rooster. Mr. B — was a good-natured 
man, and could appreciate a joke, but this was more 
than he could stand. Just as Jim was about to decap- 
itate his captive, as he had the others, his ears were 
smitten with the astounding cry: 'Tor God's sake, 
don't kill him." 

How Jim got out through a little window at the 
back of that loft and reached terra Hrrna safely is 
more easily imagined than told. Jim himself could 
never tell exactly how he did it. 

Next morning Mr. B — presented a bill for over 
twenty dollars for poultry and animals, and a ser- 
geant was instructed to collect it from the men by 
voluntary subscription unless he could find out who 
the raiders were. The amount required was sub- 
scribed, and the captain footed the bill. Whether he 
ever collected the subscriptions, this deponent saith 
not. 

163 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

SKIRMISHING WITH I AY HAWKERS. 

Captain Anderson^ having received information 
that Montgomery, with his band of thieves, was raid- 
ing the settlements several miles west of the fort, took 
twenty men and went out in search of him. I shall 
endeavor to relate the incidents of the expedition sub- 
stantially as given me by different men who partic- 
ipated in it. 

From a ridge over which our detachment was pass- 
ing, the raiders were discovered in a valley to the 
westward, moving with evident haste toward a body 
of timber perhaps a mile and a half in their front. 
To reach this timber, they had to cross a level prairie 
about a mile in width. This level terminated on the 
west by a steep ridge extending out at right angles to 
the line of the timber. On the east or hither side 
it was bordered by a small branch, near which the 
land was quite marshy. 

Captain Anderson, seeing at once the great advan- 
tage the marauders would derive from getting into the 
timber, determined, if possible, to come up with them 
before they could attain their object, and pressed for- 
ward at a trot. The raiders at the same time put 
forth every effort to get into the shelter of the tim- 
ber. They moved as if their motto was "Devil take 
the hindmost!" Yet the cavalrymen seemed to have 
a good prospect of overhauling them, until they came 
upon the low and marshy ground lying between the 
ridge and the level prairie described above, and which 
the fugitives had already passed. Here the feet of 
the horses sank so deeply into the yielding earth that 

164 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

only the best of them could keep up any pretense of a 
gallop. The result was that when Captain Anderson 
reached the higher prairie his twenty men were 
strung along for two or three hundred yards to the 
rear. 

Only two men had found their horses sufficiently 
powerful to lead the Captain's favorite stallion. One 
man was abreast of him, and two others close behind. 
In this order, not waiting for the weaker horses to 
come up, they dashed forward, and had reached a 
point within fair rifle range of the ridge at the west- 
ern edge of the level, when they received a volley 
from the summit of the ridge. 

Both the men in front went down under this volley. 
The Captain got a flesh wound in the leg, and his 
horse received a shot in the neck. The men who had 
come up returned the fire, but they could only fire 
at random, for the only visible sign of their foes was 
a puff of smoke now and then rising from a bowlder 
on the ridge. 

The face of this ridge was too steep for a direct 
assault by cavalry. Withdrawing to the depression 
along the branch mentioned above, out of range of 
the Sharp's rifles. Captain Anderson sent a messenger 
to the fort for reenforcements. Another man went 
forward on foot and invited a parley with the raiders 
for the purpose of relieving the two men who had fall- 
en, if they were yet alive. When he had gotten near 
them, he was hailed from the ridge and ordered not 
to come any farther. He then -made known his ob- 
ject, and the parley resulted in an agreement for the 
two fallen soldiers to be removed from the field. It 

165 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was found that a bullet had pierced one of the men 
through the body. He afterwards died of the wound 
at Fort Scott. The other man was unhurt. His 
horse, which was shot dead, had fallen on his leg and 
held him there. Perhaps he did not make any great 
effort to release himself, as the body of the horse shel- 
tered him, as he lay, from the enemy's fire. 

A small reenforcement having at length arrived 
from the fort, the command was now divided into two 
parties, one of which proceeded down the little branch, 
with a view to moving on the enemy through the 
timber, while the other was directed to make a cir- 
cuit to the left and, moving down the ridge, dis- 
lodge the riflemen from among the rocks and push on 
to rejoin the party in the timber. These movements 
were carried out, but no raiders were found. The 
gallant captain had been outwitted. Several horses 
and some wagons loaded with plunder were found 
at the edge of the wood, where they were visible from 
the prairie, and where they had probably been left for 
the very purpose which they served — that is, to make 
the impression that the marauders were still in the 
wood, awaiting an assault. 

Nearly all, if not quite all, the captured property was 
afterwards identified and claimed by citizens from 
whom it had been taken by the marauders, who had 
now added murder to their other crimes. 

i66 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

A NIGHT WATCH— HOW A TENDERFOOT 

MAY GET BEWILDERED ON THE 

PRAIRIE. 

At Fort Scott, Kans., one morning at reveille roll 
call we were startled by the report of a pistol. Bang ! 
bang! bang! three shots in quick succession. A little 
dwelling stood at the southwest corner of the plaza, 
occupied by a Georgia emigrant by the name of 
Head, who had imprudently brought his slaves here. 
One of the negroes, seduced from his allegiance by 
the insidious whisperings of the free-soilers, had run 
off and had been captured and returned to his master. 

When the pistol shots rang out, on the morning in 
question, the attention of the men in line was attracted 
to Head's house, and Head was seen standing on his 
doorsteps, half clad, firing at the negro, who was 
some fifty yards off making kangaroo jumps down 
the hill. The men broke ranks, and a number of them 
started in pursuit; but the fleet-footed negro disap- 
peared in the timber skirting a branch which runs 
along some hundred and forty yards to the south of 
the plaza, and was seen no more. 

It was thought that the fugitive would lie concealed 
until night, and then, under cover of darkness, make 
his way northward. I received a request from the 
sheriff to accompany him to a point on the road sev- 
eral miles north of the fort, and there lie in wait. 
Setting out as soon as the shadows of evening were 
sufiicient to conceal our movements from people who 
would be apt to warn the fugitive, we rode rapidly to 
the place which the sheriff thought best suited to his 

167 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

purpose. Picketing our horses in a hollow at some 
distance, we lay down by the road and waited. 

I know not how long we had been there. The 
sheriff was asleep. I was listening intently, and 
watching for any object that might come along the 
road from the direction of the fort, when I heard foot- 
steps. I nudged the sheriff and whispered: ''Some 
one is coming." 

"Where? Where?" he exclaimed, and would have 
sprung to his feet if my hand had not restrained him. 

"There, up the road," I said; "lie still and listen." 

At this moment the form of a man passing a point 
on the road more elevated than our position loomed 
up against the clouds that now shut out the stars, and 
we distinctly heard the creak, creak of new shoes as 
the man walked briskly toward us. We saw, too, that 
he carried a stout club in his right hand, and that a 
small bundle hung from his left. 

"That's him," whispered Mr. Sheriff. "Some o' 
them fellows has given him a pair o' new shoes." 

The man came on. When exactly against us, the 
Sheriff, with a spring like that of a cat, was upon 
him. The right arm, which might have wielded the 
club, was helpless in the powerful grip which the 
sheriff had fastened upon it. 

"Howly mother of Jasus ! Would ye murther me ? 
What? bareheaded?" Such were the exclamations 
which greeted us, as the man, his head thrown back, 
looked from one to the other in wild alarm. This 
was no negro dialect evidently. The sheriff had 
caught the man. To turn him loose was the next 
business. Explanations were in order. They were 

i68 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

given without delay, and our Irish friend went on 
his way, apparently satisfied that he had escaped be- 
ing ''murthered entirely." 

We resumed our watch. Perhaps half an hour had 
elapsed when a light was discovered to the northward. 
It seemed to be about a quarter of a mile distant, and 
appeared to be moving rapidly in the direction of our 
horses. It occurred to us that some one encamped 
near might have heard the horses and started out to 
look for them. What puzzled us was that if the 
light emanated from a torch carried by a man it so 
obscured him that we could not discern his form. 
At all events, the light was moving toward our horses, 
and we decided that we had better look to them. 
Acting promptly on this decision, we hurried out into 
the hollow where we had left them securely picketed. 
Having reached a point which I felt sure was as far 
out as we had left them, I threw myself flat on the 
ground to try if I could see my horse against the 
heavy clouds which were now scurrying swiftly across 
the sky from southwest to northeast. My vision had 
not swept half around the horizon when I discovered 
him, and, to my great alarm, he was moving in a 
gallop toward the fort. I sprang up and ran with 
headlong speed toward a point in the road to which 
I was a little nearer than he, hoping to intercept him. 
Suddenly, as I ran, my horse loomed up right before 
me, standing stock-still, giving me a friendly nicker as 
I brought up close by his head. 

"This won't do," I said to myself. "I must think; 
I must stop and untangle myself." Examining the 
picket pin, I found it driven up to the swivel, as I had 

169 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

left it. I looked at the clouds; they were scurrying 
off toward the northeast, a direction opposite to that 
in which my horse had appeared to be running. The 
problem was solved. It was the movement of the 
clouds, against which I had seen the horse, that made 
him appear to be moving in the opposite direction, 
and I, running to intercept him, had unconsciously 
moved in a circle. Looking to the north, I now plain- 
ly saw that the light, the discovery of which had 
terminated our watch by the road, emanated from 
the fireplace in a shanty, the door of which stood open. 
It was probably the home of our Irish friend, who had 
doubtless kindled the fire to comfort himself withal 
after his unwonted experience. 

Barricaded. 

Mounting, we set out to return to the fort, taking 
a direction which we thought would lead us into the 
road on our left within two hundred yards. We had 
proceeded perhaps a quarter of a mile when I sug- 
gested that we had better turn more to the left. The 
sheriff thought we could safely trust the horses to 
carry us right. At length, after riding perhaps a 
mile, we entered the road. If we had given the rein 
to our horses instead of trusting our own judgment at 
the start, they would probably have gone into the road 
about where we had intended to strike it. 

Rain now began to fall in great drops, and we rode 
on rapidly. It was so dark that we could scarcely 
see each other as we rode side by side. A storm was 
imminent. The sheriff proposed to turn off to the 
house of a friend of his and rest there until mprning. 

170 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

It would be next to impossible, he said, to get through 
the Marmiton swamp by the route we were on in 
such darkness. I readily agreed to his proposition — 
the more readily as, even while we talked, the storm 
broke upon us with great fury. The almost incessant 
lightning, however, enabled us to find the way, and 
we soon reached the place. The sheriff's call elicited 
no response until he had repeated it several times. 
I saw by the lightning flashes that there was a bar- 
ricade of rails outside the door, extending to the top 
of it. This suggested the thought that the people 
were away from home, and I mentioned it; but my 
companion persevered in calling until some one an- 
swered with "Who's that, and what do you want ?" 

"It's Sheriff ; don't you know my voice?" 

After some further parley the cautious citizen 
climbed out over his barricade and asked us to "light." 
Right glad I was, after seeing my horse provided for, 
to get into a comfortable bed, where I soon fell asleep. 
I discovered next morning that the stable of our 
host was also barricaded with rails across the front 
and up to the comb of the roof. To such measures 
were the unhappy citizens driven in these perilous 
times for the protection of their property and their 
lives. Assassination was not infrequent. The man 
who opened his door at night to answer the hail of a 
supposed belated traveler did so at his peril. In this 
way recently, in one night, three men were lured to 
their death within a few miles of Fort Scott. 

171 



IN BARRACK AND FIEy). 

DEMORALIZATION IN THE RANKS. 

A Soldier-Highwayman. His Trial by a Court 
Not Provided for in the Code Military. 

That the general demoraHzation of the community 
extended its baleful influences to the rank and file 
of the army was a natural result, illustrating the prin- 
ciple stated in the oft-quoted lines: 

"Vice is a monster of so frightful mien, 
As, to be hated, needs but to be seen; 
Yet seen too oft, familiar with her face, 
We first endure, then pity, then embrace." 

A community in a state of war requires arms and 
ammunition. Our arms, especially carbines, myste- 
riously disappeared, until perhaps a fifth of the men 
were left with only pistols and sabers. Cartridges 
disappeared with the carbines. The commanding offi- 
cer found it necessary to take the pistols from the men 
and have them locked up, in charge of the acting 
quartermaster sergeant. The close watch instituted 
failed to materialize in the detection of the thieves, 
but that they were of our ranks I had not the slightest 
doubt. Nor was there any doubt that they were hired 
to steal the arms to be used for unlawful ends by 
roughs who infested the country, and who were doing 
all they could to promote internecine strife, that they 
might conceal their own rascality under the cloak 
of party zeal. The better class of soldiers — a very 
large majority of the whole — became restless and in- 
dignant under the ill repute they had to bear from the 
conduct of a few comrades who were known to con- 
sort with roughs, but whom they failed to detect in 

172 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

any overt acts of a character to subject them to pun- 
ishment under either miHtary or civil law. Under 
these circumstances, it is not to be wondered at that 
when, at length, a citizen was robbed on the highway, 
under circumstances that left no doubt that the rob- 
ber was a soldier belonging to the company, the long- 
repressed indignation of the men found vent in action. 

Some government mules had either been stolen 
from the corral or else had gone astray, and one or 
two squads of men were sent out to search for them. 
Some hours after these men rode away a citizen rode 
into the fort and reported that he had been robbed by 
one of our men. He stated that his wife was sick, and 
he was on his way to Fort Scott to consult a pliysi- 
cian and get medicines for her when he met three 
cavalrymen on the public road; that after making in- 
quiry of him about some stray mules two of them 
rode on. The third one continued to engage him in 
conversation until the others had gotten off out of 
hearing, and then demanded his money, enforcing the 
demand by presenting his pistol. He had but ten dol- 
lars in the world, and had brought that along to buy 
medicines for his wife ; but he had to give it up. He 
described the man who had robbed him as of medium 
height, firmly knit, and plump in form, coal-black hair 
and eyes, and very dark complexion. No member of 
the company who heard the description had any diffi- 
culty in identifying the man as Private Simmons, a 
quadroon of Cherokee blood. 

The affair was kept as quiet as possible until the 
return of the men from hunting the mules, when 
the story of the citizen was corroborated by the two 

^7Z 



IN BARRACK AND FI^D. 

cavalrymen who had been with Simmons. They had 
witnessed the whole transaction, though at a distance 
too great to hear the talk between the robber and the 
robbed. That night the rank and file of Company I 
met in a vacant room in a government stable, and, 
having locked the doors, resolved themselves into a 
drumhead court-martial. A paper was drawn up and 
duly signed, by which each member committed him- 
self to an equal share of responsibility for the pro- 
ceedings to be taken. 

Simmons w^as put on trial, and, after examination 
of witnesses, some of whom were not held strictly to 
the rule as to hearsay evidence, was found guilty and 
sentenced to banishment from the company, or, as 
an alternative, to receive five lashes at the hand of 
each man in the company. He was put under guard, 
and given a reasonable time to decide for himself the 
question whether to go or not to go. Finally he an- 
nounced to the guard that he would accept the sen- 
tence of banishment, and upon receiving his solemn 
promise to leave the post and its vicinity at once and 
forever, the guard, having been previously authorized 
to do so, released him. But Simmons, arguing that 
this promise was made under duress, and therefore 
not binding on his conscience, went straightway to 
Captain Anderson and appealed to him for protection. 
Of course the whole proceeding had been disorderly 
from a military standpoint. The Captain's duty as an 
officer was, unquestionably, to protect the man from 
the enforcement of the sentence of the men, who had 
no authority to try him. Having ascertained that a 
record had been kept of the proceedings, and that it 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was in possession of one of the sergeants, the Captain 
demanded it. The sergeant surrendered the papers, 
remarking that if the Captain desired to keep such a 
man as Simmons in the company he supposed the men 
could not help themselves. 

Had Simmons had the good sense to return to duty, 
pursue a conciliatory course toward the men, and con- 
duct himself with propriety, I verily believe they 
v/ould never have taken any further steps in the mat- 
ter. But at stable call next morning he indulged in 
abusive language and threats against the men, that 
gave new life to the spirit of indignation which had 
been partially quelled by the unexpected interference 
of the Captain. 

After stable call, a sergeant, being on his way to 
deliver a pistol to a man who was to go on a scout 
that day, was ascending the steps to the squad room 
when, looking up, he saw Simmons standing at the 
head of the steps looking down at him with an ugly 
scowl, which he felt to be a threat. ''Simmons," said 
he, "I am informed that you have been threatening 
some of the men about the part they took in your trial 
last night ; now if you don't leave here in half an 
hour you'll 'go up.' " As he said this his hand felt 
the butt of the revolver that was thrust into the breast 
of his jacket. Simmons went hurriedly down the 
steps and across the plaza to the Captain's quarters, 
where he passed out of sight around a corner. 

The excitement among the men now grew apace, 
and in a short time a squad of volunteers was organ- 
ized, with Sergeant Hyde at the head, resolved to car- 
ry out the sentence of the night before. It was ascer- 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

tained that Simmons was in one of the rooms of a 
tavern kept by one Brocket. The boys entered the 
office of the hostelry and asked for Simmons. Brocket 
said that he was not in the house that he knew of. 
Sergeant Hyde told him plainly that the man had been 
seen to enter his house, and he had just as well bring 
him out or show them the room he was in, for they 
did not intend to leave without him. Brocket there- 
upon began to bluster; and going to a desk behind a 
counter, he raised the lid and took out a pistol. CHck, 
click, click ! Half a dozen revolvers were ready in the 
hands of the boys. Mine host turned a little pale, put 
up his pistol, and changed his tune of anger to one of 
remonstrance. Sergeant Hyde at length agreed to go 
with him to see Captain Anderson, he agreeing to 
abide by whatever the Captain should say. Arriving 
at the Captain's apartments, they stated the case to 
him, whereupon the Captain invited Brocket to a 
private conference in another room. 

After what Hyde thought was a very long time, 
they returned. As they came in, the Captain was 
saying audibly: "My advice to you, Brocket, is to 
have nothing to do with this matter. When my boys 
set their heads to anything, all hell couldn't turn 
them." 

Brocket seemed quite reconciled to letting the boys 
have their way now, and returned with Sergeant Hyde 
to the tavern. On arriving there a man was sent to 
the second floor to call Simmons. He soon returned, 
and announced that Simmons was gone. An investi- 
gation revealed the fact that he had escaped through a 
back window, having let himself down by a rope. It 

176 " 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was learned afterwards that he ran down to a wagon 
train near the Marmiton and begged a company team- 
ster to hide him, sa}-ing that the boys would kill him. 
Our teamster told him he wanted nothing to do with 
him, whereupon he dashed into the creek and across, 
and disappeared in the timber beyond. xA.nd that was 
the last we ever heard of the soldier who had turned 
robber. 



A HORSE FANCIER. 
Another Extrajudicial Trial. 

In the shadows of the narrow line of timber, just 
by the little stream that laves the foot of the slope that 
falls gently from the south side of the plaza at Fort 
Scott, there was encamped an immigrant. He had 
probably selected this charming spot as a place where 
his family and his property would be secure, under 
the protecting arms of the United States Cavalry, 
while he prospected for a suitable place upon which to 
erect a home where his children and his fortunes could 
grow up with the country. Whatever his purpose 
may have been, he was there, and was the possessor 
of two valuable horses.. One morning one of his 
horses was missing, and all his efforts to trace him 
proved unavailing. It was reasonable to suppose that 
a thief would have taken the pair; at least so thought 
this immigrant, to whom the crooked ways of horse 
thieves were as a sealed book. He therefore indulged 
the hope that the horse had strayed off and would 
be found somewhere in the vicinity feasting on the 
12 177 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

luxuriant grass of the prairies. At length, how- 
ever, he was driven to the conclusion that his horse 
was stolen. 

In the stillness of the night a soldier lay in one of 
those wakeful dreams in which some scene of the 
past comes up for review and, whether pleasing or 
painful, floats around in the brain until every detail 
has been lived over again. He had been lying thus 
a little while, when he heard low and apparently cau- 
tious whispering iiom a bunk near him, occupied by 
two men. The word "horse" coming to his ears 
aroused his attention. He listened, and before he 
slept was in possession of the mystery of the missing 
horse. 

The whispered conversation which had been over- 
heard disclosed the fact that one of the men, whom 
I will call Tradwick for convenience, had stolen the 
horse, and concealed him in a dense thicket some- 
where in the swamp that borders the Marmiton below 
the fort. In the lapse of time some of the minor 
details of the affair have faded from memory. I have 
the impression that Tradwick was to receive a stip- 
ulated sum from some man who was to take the ani- 
mal and carry it off, and that this man had failed to 
put in an appearance according to his agreement, or, 
having appeared, sought to take advantage of his 
knowledge of the theft and of Tradwick's fears to 
compel the latter to abate somewhat the stipend agreed 
upon. At all events, there had been a hitch in some 
way in the plans for disposing of the horse; and 
though several days had elapsed, it remained hidden 
from Tradwick's accessory, as well as from the owner. 

178 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Next morning the facts in the case were made 
known to a few, and were quietly revealed to others 
during the day. Many of the men, as may be sup- 
posed of soldiers, animated by a proper esprit de 
corps, could hardly restrain their indignation or re- 
press their scorn for the man who had thus disgraced 
his company, until the proper time for such action 
as could alone save the reputation of the command. 

At night nearly the entire company assembled in 
the vacant stable room. Tradwick was put on trial 
in manner and form as related in the case of Simmons, 
and with the same result. He was but a boy, and 
this fact, together with his previous good conduct, 
perhaps saved him from a worse fate. He had been 
seduced into crime by older men. His immature mind 
had been unable to resist the common demoralization 
of the times. But, with favorable surroundings, there 
was still a chance that he would redeem himself and 
become a worthy man. In any of the penitentiaries, 
where all grades of convicts are kept in a forced as- 
sociation, he would inevitably have become a hard- 
ened criminal. As it was, he did, in fact, reform and 
became a good soldier, as will appear from 

The Sequel. 

Tradwick, having, in obedience to the unanimous 
sentence of the self-constituted court, laid down his 
arms and departed to parts unknown, was a short time 
afterwards, to the no little embarrassment of his for- 
mer comrades, arrested by a lieutenant of the Second 
Dragoons and sent to Fort Leavenworth under charge 
of desertion. Company I had returned to Fort Leav- 

179 



IN BARRACK AND^ FIELD. 

enworth when Tradwick's case came on to be tried 
before a general court-martial, of which Capt. Thom- 
as J. Wood was president. The prisoner pleaded not 
guilty, and furnished a list of witnesses to be sum- 
moned to testify in his behalf. 

There was much consternation among the men who 
were summoned. They apprehended serious conse- 
quences to themselves when the doings of that night 
in the Fort Scott stable should be related before a 
court-martial, to be written down, and, worst of all, 
to be read, in all of its offensiveness to the military 
mind, by the department commander, who was no less 
a person than ''Old Bull of the Woods" himself. 
Their views under the indignation and excitement of 
the former occasion were very different from those 
entertained now, when, without the support of pas- 
sion, they began to see the rueful consequences before 
them. Then they would have dared the severest pun- 
ishment that military discipline could inflict rather 
than submit to associating in the ranks with a man 
who had disgraced them. Now — well, they thought 
that perhaps they had better not have done it. 

But there was no escape from testifying, be the 
consequences what they might. One of the witnesses 
sworn was a sergeant who had acted as secretary in 
the meeting to be investigated, by the proceedings of 
which the prisoner sought to show that he was driven 
from the company. The witness, in response to ques- 
tions, related what had occurred at that meeting, even 
stating the sentence : ''To leave the company, or to 
receive five lashes at the hands of each member there- 
of." 

1 80 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Question by the President : "How do you know 
these things, Sergeant?" 

Answer: ''I decHne to answer." 

Question: "What! You dechne to answer?" 

Answer: "Yes, sir." 

The expression of surprise and consternation the 
President of the court put into that word "What!" 
had its counterpart in the expression of his features, 
but it cannot be written. That an enhsted man should 
be aware of his constitutional right not to reply to 
a question the answer of which might criminate him, 
and dare to assert that right, seemed to strike the 
Captain as something astounding. 

The witness was directed to retire until the court 
should decide whether or not he should be required 
to answer. He was not recalled. 

Tradwick was found guilty of desertion, and rec- 
ommended to the clemency of the department com- 
mander. Colonel Sumner, in orders promulgating 
the findings of this court, took occasion to comment 
with great severity on the laxness of discipline indi- 
cated by the facts disclosed in the trial of Tradwick. 
He was especially severe on the noncommissioned of- 
ficers, whose actions he characterized as "conduct 
highly unbecoming a soldier" and as "violative of ev- 
ery principle of military duty." Beyond question the 
old veteran was right, and the noncommissioned offi- 
cers aforesaid were right glad to accept his word- 
lashing for their share, and let the matter "drap." 

Tradwick was pardoned and returned to duty, and 
afterwards, as long as this narrator knew him, con- 
ducted himself with propriety. 

i8i 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ON THE PLAINS. EXPEDITION TO MARK 
THE SOUTHERN BOUNDARY OF KANSAS. 

May 1 6, 1857. After the usual hurry and bustle in- 
cident to leaving winter quarters for a summer cam- 
paign, we took up the line of march this morning at 
ten o'clock in force, two squadrons of cavalry and two 
companies of the Sixth Infantry, all under command 
of Lieut. Col. Joseph E. Johnston. The object of the 
expedition is the protection of a party of civil engi- 
neers in tracing and marking the southern boundary 
line of Kansas. One poor fellow, a French recruit, was 
thrown from his horse twice on leaving the stables. 
After a Httle instruction, however, he learned that his 
spurs were not made to hold on with, and made out to 
ride very well. Our foreign recruits are generally 
wretched riders until trained. The men seem cheer- 
fully disposed, and the prospect is in every way good 
for an agreeable tramp. 

May 21. I received orders yesterday evening to be 
ready to move this morning at six. Four men were 
detailed to accompany me. Leaving horses, I was to 
take a wagon with a team of four mules and push 
on to overtake a forage train which had been thrown 
forward on the route, conduct it to a point forty miles 
west of the Quappa Agency, have it unloaded there, 
and send it back, remaining there with my party to 
guard the corn until the command reached that point 
on its westward march. I reported to the adjutant 
this morning in due time, and found nothing ready 
except a wagon with a crippled team. At length, 
however, by dint of an industrious use of my legs, I 

182 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

had the satisfaction of moving off from the outskirt 
of the camp just as the bugles sounded "boots and 
saddles." 

May 22. Our camp this evening is in the edge of an 
open body of timber, in plain view of a dark, dense 
line of forest which marks the course of the Osage 
River as it comes down from the higher plains far 
to the westward. To-day we moved thirty miles, pass- 
ing the village of West Point and the river Mer de 
Cygne. Four deer ran near our camp and were fired 
at at long range without apparent effect. Prairie 
chickens abound here. This section of the country 
is well watered, exceedingly fertile, and beautifully 
diversified with hills and plains, noble forests and cool 
savannas. Numerous circular, conical, stone-capped 
mounds rise up in the midst of the valleys, like grim 
sentries set over the vast treasures of floral fra- 
grance. 

May 2^. Camp seven miles south of Fort Scott. 
This post has not been occupied by United States 
forces for some years, the public property having 
passed into private hands. It is pleasantly situated 
on the point of a ridge overlooking on the north the 
valley of Marmiton Creek, whose banks are shaded 
by forests of heavy timber and whose waters abound 
with choice fish. Fort Scott, like other military posts 
which an advancing frontier has left in the lap of 
civilization, has become a quiet and peaceful village. 
The brook that winds along the base of the ridge on 
the south furnishes water for the boiler of a steam 
mill; then, meandering around the point of the ridge 
on the east, separating it from a body of several hun- 

183 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

dred acres of marsh land, its waters mingle with those 
of the Marmiton. 

The click of the printer's type is heard where, not 
many years since, the sentry was wont to pace his 
nightly rounds on guard against the whiles of swarthy 
foes. Yet since this journal was begun has the mad- 
ness of a frenzied fanaticism thrown a pall of dark- 
ness and blood over the peaceful scene ; for here and 
in this vicinity were enacted some of the most revolt- 
ing barbarisms of that revoltingly barbarous and un- 
natural strife through which the territory came to be 
christened "Bleeding Kansas.'' Our route to-day led 
through a country of most charming scenery. 

May 24. Moved six miles and went into camp to 
wait for the forage train, which we had passed on 
the route. Took a tramp with a rifle, hoping to shoot 
a deer. Found tracks abundant, but no game larger 
than a squirrel. 

May 25. Moved fifteen miles and encamped ten 
miles north of Cow Creek. Timber within a mile of 
the route ten miles north and at this point. 

On the 27th I reached Spring River, near the 
mouth of Shoal Creek, crossed over and encamped 
near the residence of a gentleman who had moved 
from Georgia with the Cherokees. On learning my 
destination, this gentleman informed me that the 
Quappa Agency was six miles down the river on the 
Missouri side; that, in consequence of the heavy 
rains that had fallen that day, there would be such a 
rise in the river that it would be impassable by the 
fords for several days; and that by going down on 
the western side I could reach a trail leading in the 

184 



In barrack and field. 

direction of my proposed route westward, without 
crossing the river at all. The only serious obstacle 
was Brushy Creek, about a mile and a half below, and 
he thought we might pass that with little trouble. 
Fortunately the "bull" train had encamped west of 
the river, and, learning that the rise would probably 
not come down to prevent my recrossing at daylight 
in the morning, I decided to rest here to-night. 

May 28. Recrossed to the west bank at daylight. It 
had rained during the night and I found the prairie 
bottom, where the train was parked, under water an 
inch or two in depth. The wagon master furnished 
me a horse, and we rode down to Bushy Creek and 
selected a place for crossing. All the men, except two 
left to guard the train, were then brought down and 
put to work, some clearing a roadway through the 
narrow swamp, others throwing a bridge over the 
little stream. The work was pushed with such vigor 
that by noon we had finished it and returned to the 
train. 

In the midst of the plain, about half a mile from 
the edge of the timber that skirts the river and west 
of the road, there stands a conical hill about half a 
mile in circumference at the base. The direct line to 
our crossing was between this hill and the river. But 
finding upon riding over it that the ground here, own- 
ing to the quantity of rain that had lately fallen, was 
quite marshy, the wagon master conducted his train 
around to the north of the hill, where he found the 
earth comparatively solid, until we got within some 
tw^o hundred yards of the timber on the creek. Here 
the wheels of the leading wagon began to sink, and 

i8q 



IN BARRACK AND ^lELD. 

finally went down so deep in the soil that the team 
could no longer move it. An extra pair of oxen was 
brought forward and attached before the team. An- 
other pull The huge wagon moves, but at every turn 
the wheels sink deeper. Another pair of oxen, an- 
other pull, another halt. The front axle touches the 
ground. There is higher and firmer ground near the 
creek. Will they ever reach it? Two more yokes 
are attached — ten pairs of huge oxen to one wagon, 
with a driver for every two pairs, each driver armed 
with a whip about eighteen feet long attached to a 
staff of some twenty to twenty-four inches, and hav- 
ing a heavy lash. You see it whirling round over 
his head in snakelike coils, and expect to see him 
lash himself in the face. Suddenly, with a slight ex- 
tension of his arm, the lash flies straight out and — 
pow! It is like the report of a pistol. He will bet 
you any small sum that he can cut a steer's ear at 
twenty feet with that lash four times out of five. 

All ready! Whoa, Broach! Come up there, Har- 
ney ! Pow ! pow ! pow ! You would think there was 
a battle, or at least a sharp skirmish. Such yelling! 
Such cursing! As one ox struggles forward under 
the keen lash, his mate is thrown back. ''Steady, 
there, Bragg!*' Now they settle down to it. "All 
together!" The wagon moves, thirty — forty feet. 
Now a rest, and on again, until at last the wagon is 
past the marsh and over the creek. When the last 
wagon ascended the hill beyond the creek, it was time 
to go into camp. "The command" had come up with 
us, and we were glad to spend the night with our 
comrades. 

i86 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Lieut. Col. J. E. Johnston. His Care of Pub- 
lic Property. 

I was to go on with the forage train next morning, 
and I thought it desirable to be provided with extra 
cartridges. I say extra, but, in truth, the supply that 
had been issued to me was about exhausted, a fact 
that I did not care to mention to the Colonel when I 
approached him to make known my want. I found 
him in his tent, the flap turned back only enough to 
admit light for reading. Hearing my footsteps, he 
looked up expectantly. 

"Colonel," I said, ''will you give me an order for 
fifty rounds of ammunition, extra, for my party?" 

"What do you want with extra ammunition, Ser- 
geant ?" 

"I thought," I frankly replied, having no better an- 
swer handy — "I thought we might have an oppor- 
tunity to shoot a deer or a turkey now and then." 

I fancied I saw a slight twinkle in the keen eyes as 
he replied : "Uncle Sam doesn't furnish ammunition to 
hunt with. Sergeant." 

I knew he was right, and retired with what grace 
I could, not much disappointed. No man was ever 
truer to a trust than Joseph E. Johnston. There was 
no better disciplinarian in the army; yet, on acount 
of his easy urbanity, which seemed to sit upon him 
as fitly as his uniform, and which he never threw off 
except under extreme provocation, he was univer- 
sally esteemed by his subordinates. 

On the morning of the 29th my little party moved 
out with the forage train. Intersecting a few miles 

187 



IN BARRACK AND FJELD. 

from camp the trail mentioned before, we followed it 
across the Neosho River, and on twenty miles be- 
yond to a small tributary of the Verdigris River. The 
section of country drained by these two rivers and 
their tributaries and those of Spring River, now 
owned and inhabited by the Osages, Cherokees, and 
Quappas, is, I think, the garden spot of the West. 
Camp Snow, Osage Nation, Kans., 
May 31, 1857. 

Dear ; My last from Fort Scott informed you 

of my having been sent forward to overtake a forage 
train. From Fort Scott we traveled southward to 
Spring River, which we reached at a point about fivie 
miles from the Missouri line and six from the south 
line of Kansas. 

Going down on the west side of the river about five 
miles, we came into a trail leading west. Following 
this trail, we reached, about noon, a mound from the 
summit of which the tents of the command, which had 
gone several miles farther down Spring River, were 
plainly visible. Yesterday we crossed the Neosho, a 
stream about the size of the Big Tallapoosa. There 
are along the road in the bottoms bordering this 
stream walnuts and s}'camores from eight to ten feet 
in diameter, and higher than the loftiest pines in Car- 
roll. Here in the midst of these monarchs of the 
forest, close by the trail, is a little cabin, in passing 
which we had a glimpse of a woman and two or 
three children. They have chosen for their habita- 
tion the very verge of the western frontier of the 
Mississippi Valley. 

We are camped this evening on a clear, timber- 
fringed stream, twenty-two miles west of the Neosho. 
The train is unloaded and ready to start back in the 
morning. The wagon master will mail this at some 
convenient place on his way. 

188 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The lands over which I have traveled are well wa- 
tered, and there is good timber along the streams. 
There seemed to be a depreciation in the quality of the 
prairie lands as we came southward, but there are 
large streams and more timber. I think the Clier- 
okees own one of the most desirable regions in Amer- 
ica. Their river bottoms are burdened with the 
heaviest timber, and exhaustless beds of coal lie em- 
bosomed in their hills. 

Within a hundred yards of my wagon trout and 
perch may be seen playing in the clear water. At 
sunset squirrels were barking in the woods close by, 
and there are plenty of prairie chickens around on the 
higher plains. Last night we had for supper two that 
I shot on the road. 

Give my love to all who are kind enough to remem- 
ber your unworthy brother, . 

Camp Snow, June i. 
The train, having been unloaded, left us this morn- 
ing. Before going, the wagon master proposed to 
exchange some flour with me for hard-tack. I ac- 
cepted his proposition, and gained in the exchange 
two or three days' rations of bread, the liberal fellovv 
leaving us so much more than he took away. This 
was a fortunate circumstance for us, as, by reason of 
waiting longer than had been expected for the civil 
engineers to determine by astronomic observations 
the initial point of the line, the command did not reach 
this camp until several days after the expiration of the 
time for which we had been supplied. But for this 
extra supply of flour, we would have been without 
bread, as we were without other supplies, for two 
days. For several days we made our salt pork do 
triple duty. We caught a few fish. To fry these for 

189 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

breakfast, we would fry a few slices of pork to obtain 
grease. For dinner we gathered "lamb's quarter" 
and wild onions, which grew in abundance about our 
camp, and boiled them with the fried pork ; for dinner 
next day the pork was again brought into requisition 
to season a mess of "scouse," which was compounded 
of scraps of bread, wild onions, and bits of the salt 
pork. I found it very palatable. 

We spent the days in happy, careless indolence, 
hunting a little, fishing a little, reading Goldsmith (my 
only literary companion), and washing our shirts in 
the clear water of the brook. Gathered about our lit- 
tle fire at evening, we exchanged sage opinions as to 
the destiny of the great West, and the probable scar- 
city of tobacco ere we should return to winter quar- 
ters and new supplies. 

Now and then an old Indian would stalk into our 
camp begging ''tobac." On one a comrade of ours got 
off a joke that quite disgusted him. Shehane was one 
of those men, not infrequently met with in civilized 
communities, who let the future provide for itself. He 
had spent his money for whisky, and, though an invet- 
erate chewer, had supplied himself with only enough to- 
bacco to last a few days. He was now on the beg, and 
not well pleased with his Indian rival, who, like him, 
was a stalwart fellow with extremely somber fea- 
tures. Each of us in his turn had contributed to our 
dignified visitor's supply of the much-coveted plug 
until he came to Shehane. To him, as to the others, 
he held out his right hand, pronouncing the word ''to- 
bac." "Lemme see how much you got," said She- 
hane. The simple child of the forest held up his left 

190 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

hand and slowly unclosed the four digits that had 
inclosed his precious store. Whereupon Shehane 
picked out the largest piece, and instantly conveyed 
it to his mouth, not changing a feature of his stolid 
face. If there ever was an astonished Indian, here 
was one. The tone of disgust which he threw into 
the utterance of the one syllable ''Ugh !" as he drew 
back his hand grasping closely what remained of the 
tobacco, cannot be expressed on paper. It was some 
time before we could restrain our laughter, but we did 
not let our visitor go away dissatisfied. 

I asked this Indian what the stream on which we 
were encamped was called. Sweeping his arm around, 
he answered "Caha," giving the ''a" the broad sound 
in both syllables (Cawhaw.) From information sub- 
sequently obtained, I suppose he did not understand 
my question, and meant to tell me that the lands here 
belonged to the Cahas, a band of the Osages. Never- 
theless, I gave this name to the little stream; and if 
it has not retained it, I am not responsible. 

During the hours of leisure enjoyed here my mind 
dwelt much on old associations. The weather was 
delightful, and as I sat upon the banks of the stream, 
looking into the transparent water, loved faces came 
up and smiled on me again. 



CHASING A HORSE. 

June 8-12, 1857. The anxiously expected column 
came in sight on the evening of a day when our ration 
box had run so low that we could hardly find scraps 

191 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

for next day's "scouse." When the command came 
to my camp, it made a short halt and then moved on 
and encamped some two miles farther down the creek. 
I availed myself of the halt to take charge of my 
horse, and picketed him in the grove until the sun was 
low, and then moved him a little out in the prairie. 
Next morning, having again picketed him in the shade, 
I took my rifle and walked up the creek to look for 
game. Returning an hour later, when I came in sight 
of my horse I was surprised to see him acting in a 
very restless manner, walking rapidly about, now and 
then pulling at his lariat. I hurried toward him; but 
when I was yet a hundred yards off, he pulled up the 
picket pin and galloped oft", dragging it after him. 

A few yards below my camp a small branch emp- 
tied into the Caha. The trail made by the marching 
column crossed it about two hundred yards from the 
larger stream. I supposed that the horse's restless- 
ness was due to his separation from his companions, 
and that he would, on arriving at this trail, take and 
follow it down to the encampment. What was my 
surprise and disappointment when I saw him cross the 
trail and gallop away to the northward until the swell 
of the prairie hid him from my view ! I ran as quick- 
ly as I coulci to the higher ground, and coming in 
view of him again saw him still galloping on north- 
ward, now more than a mile away. I stood and 
watched him until he again passed out of sight in a 
depression, beyond which was a lofty ridge running 
east and west. In a little while he appeared ascend- 
ing the ridge. Reaching its summit, he paused. For 
one brief moment I saw his dark form against the 

192 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

sky, his head turned as if giving me a farewell look, 
and then he went out of my sight over the ridge. 

I hastened back to my camp and sent one of the 
men, who had just returned from the encampment 
below, to report the fact to my captain and secure a 
horse. 

Having obtained a mount, I set out on the trail of 
my little ba3^ It was now near noon. He had been 
gone nearly three hours, yet there was a chance to 
overtake him. He would not keep up the gait at 
which he moved before ascending the ridge. Possibly 
he would stop to graze. I rode rapidly to the sum- 
mit, and scanned anxiously the open prairie beyond. 
Not a solitary living object was in sight. With a 
feeling of disappointment, I sought and found the 
fugitive's tracks ; and as he had moved in a straight 
line north, I had no trouble in following them. A lit- 
tle stream at the foot of the ridge had cut a channel 
several feet in depth. He had gone up this two or 
three hundred yards to v/here the channel was shal- 
low and, having crossed, turned down on the opposite 
side to a point opposite that at which he had left the 
course he had been following. Here his tracks led 
)^ northward again, and continued on a direct line until 
they intersected an old, well-beaten trail running due 
east. I now pressed forward at a gallop. 

This trail must intersect that by which the command 
had moved. "Doubtless," I thought, ''my horse has 
it in his head to return to the settlements. If so, he 
will keep this path to its intersection with the larger 
trail." I galloped on several miles, glancing now and 
then at the tracks left by the fugitive. At length I 
13 193 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

failed to see them in the path. A close inspection 
convinced me that he had left it. I rode back, exam- 
ining the path carefully until I came to a little creek, 
where I had observed not only the tracks but also the 
marks left by the lariat and pick pin. I soon discov- 
ered that, on coming out of the creek, he had gone 
directly down it, the course being due north. Some 
distance below, the stream takes a bend to the east- 
ward. Here I found where he had entered the stream, 
but could see no sign of his having ascended the high- 
er bank on the opposite side. 

Down to this point the prairie bordered the stream, 
but here was timber, with undergrowth along the 
bank so dense that it was difficult to ride through it. 
The length of the shadows reminded me that I was 
now far from camp, and night was coming on rapidly, 
when it might be impossible to distinguish landmarks 
upon which I must depend to guide me back to shelter, 
companionship, and supper. Deciding promptly, I 
turned my horse's head to the south. Instead of mov- 
ing directly for the camp, I took a course for the road 
several miles farther east, for I knew that, once in 
the trail, I could follow it easily. As I have said, the 
course of the little stream was north. Looking care- 
fully along the summit of the ridge which met the 
horizon southward, with a view to selecting some 
landmark by which I could keep my direction, my 
eye fell upon three low hillocks, or mounds, which 
stood in a line at right angles to my course. Selecting 
the middle one, which was somewhat higher than the 
other two, I brought my horse's head in a line with 
it and pushed forward at a rapid walk. 

194 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I had advanced perhaps a mile when some prairie 
hens started up on my right, so close by me that I 
was tempted to try a shot at them. They were be- 
tween me and the setting sun, which perhaps con- 
fused my aim. Anyhow, the shot missed, and as I 
watched their flight toward the golden west I let my 
horse walk on. I do not think I had advanced more 
than twenty yards when I turned my eyes to observe 
my landmark. To my surprise, it was nowhere to be 
seen. It could not be that my horse had changed his 
direction, for the sun had just gone down on my 
right, and by that I knew that my face was to the 
south. It was a mystery of which I knew there was 
some natural solution, and perhaps a very simple one, 
but quite beyond my experience. 

I gave my horse the rein, believing he would keep 
straight on his course, resolved not to interfere un- 
less I saw plainly that he was diverging. I was not 
at all alarmed or confounded, but as I rode forward 
I felt an oppressive sense of loneliness while the shad- 
ows of evening gathered around me. I suppose my 
horse had been carrying me at his own will about 
thirty minutes when he began to ascend at a much 
sharper angle than that of the general slope up which 
we had come. A few steps brought him to the sum- 
mit. Looking around, I discovered that I was on the 
top of a cone-shaped hillock, some twelve or fifteen 
feet above the general level of the ridge. Looking to 
the right, I saw, at a little distance, a similar mound, 
not quite so high; on the left, about equally distant, 
was another of about equal height to that on the right. 

195 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

My horse had brought me as straight as a bee would 
fly to my lost landmark. 

I now saw the very simple explanation of the 
mysterious disappearance of the little hill. From the 
first point of observation it was on the line of the 
horizon, and was plainly visible against the sky. As- 
cending as I advanced, when I reached a point of 
elevation which brought into the line of vision the 
high land beyond the little hill, the hill itself was no 
longer visible, because its outlines, now below the 
horizon, were lost in the shadows of a background of 
prairie of exactly the same color. It had happened 
that I reached this point of elevation when my atten- 
tion was fixed on the birds. Hence my perplexity. 
Riding forward now with more confidence, I soon 
reached the road, after which a ride of an hour and a 
half brought me into camp. 

Next morning by sunrise I was in the saddle again, 
and, in company with Private John Sanders, returned 
to the trail of the runaway horse, and took it up 
where I had left it. We rode rapidly for several 
miles and came to a beautiful lake in the prairie, 
where my little bay had gone down the sloping bank 
without changing his course, and straight across, 
climbing a perpendicular bank on the opposite side. 
Riding along the southern shore about two hundred 
yards, we crossed a small brook at the western ex- 
tremity of the lake, and, taking the trail again, fol- 
lowed it until we reached the summit of a ridge over- 
looking the valley of the Osage River. 

Pausing but a moment to take in the grand view 
of sunny slopes and shadowy forests, we pushed on 

196 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

down the northern slope of the ridge, straight through 
an ahiiost impenetrable swamp, which separated the 
forest from the lower slope of the uplands, and whose 
grasses swept our knees; on into the forest through 
dense undergrowth of shrubbery and intertwining 
vines that made our progress difficult and slow ; on 
until we came upon a ravine of six or seven feet in 
depth, the channel of a branch only about two feet 
Vv'ide at the bottom, but with banks so precipitous as 
to seem at first view utterly impracticable for a horse. 
But it had not turned our little bay from his course. 
Here was the upturned earth, where his feet had 
plowed their way down the declivity; and there his 
hoofs had dug deep into the opposite bank, as he as- 
cended. 

Sending my comrade to the other side by a con- 
venient log that spanned the gulch, I drove his horse 
down the bank. He crossed safely and mine followed. 
Then going over myself, we remounted and followed 
the trail through an open forest, and soon reached 
the bank of the river, which we found flushed by re- 
cent rains. Here the strayed horse had, for the first 
time in fifteen miles, diverged from a line due north, 
as nearly as I could determine without a compass. 
His tracks now led us along the bank of the river, 
some degrees west of north. A few yards up the 
river the prairie extended into its banks, making a 
gap in the forest some hundred yards wide. 

We were about to enter this opening when I was 
somewhat startled at seeing a man in hunter's garb 
riding along the foot of the hill. Halting and giving 
Sanders a caution to keep still, I observed the man 

107 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

closely. A small bay horse was following him, at a 
distance about equal to the length of the lariat. So 
much did this horse at that distance resemble my little 
bay in size and color that I felt sure it was he. 

We did not move until he had crossed the neck of 
the prairie and was entering the timber about a hun- 
dred yards to our left, where he rode down into the 
low bed of a lagoon, now dry, and was for a moment 
out of my view. As he did not appear on the opposite 
side of the lagoon, I concluded that he was following 
its channel; and being particularly anxious to inter- 
view him, we gave spurs to our horses, galloped 
through the open woods, and intercepted him while 
he was yet riding along between the low banks. My 
disappointment was keen when I discovered that the 
little bay following him was not my horse at all, but 
a well-grown two-year-old colt. 

The man was an Osage Indian, and either could not 
or would not understand my inquiries. While I was 
trying to get some information from him, another 
hunter, who proved to be a half-breed, came out of 
the woods near the river, and across the prairie toward 
us. I advanced to meet him, and learned that he had 
come from a crossing several miles above, and had 
seen no horse. He had seen tracks. Probably the 
horse had crossed the river before he himself had 
reached it. It was but a few miles to the Osage 
agency on the other side of the river. The horse, if 
he had not already been taken up, would fall into the 
hands of some of the Osage Indians, or half-breeds, 
many of whom were none too good to hide him in 
the depths of the swamp until we had gotten away. 

198 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

It was now afternoon, and we were at least twenty- 
five miles from camp. To-morrow, if the colmim 
moved to-day, it might be twenty-five miles farther. 
These thoughts ran through my mind rapidly, and, 
deciding promptly but regretfully to abandon the 
chase, we turned and rode back to the command, 
Vv^hich we reached without adventure, late at night, 
about five miles from where we had left it. 

(In the spring of the following year I went with 
my company to escort the United States Agent for 
the Osages, whose business on this occasion was to 
pay an annuity due the tribe. While at the agency, I 
learned that a Creole living in the vicinity had in his 
possession a horse resembling my little bay. A young- 
er brother of this man came into our camp one day, 
and, upon being questioned about it, said that his 
brother had such a horse ; that he himself had found it 
near the Osage River, in June of the year before, and 
that it was. branded with the letters "U. S." on the 
left shoulder, the letter 'T" on one hoof, and had on a 
government halter and lariat. His brother had taken 
the horse away from him, hence his willingness to dis- 
close the fact. So my horse was recovered at a cost 
to the government of ten dollars, the sum usually paid 
in such cases.) 

At the Verdegris, our next camp, we rested sev- 
eral days, giving the men opportunity to wash, bathe, 
and do some needed mending. Near the river, on 
the west, was an Indian cemetery, where I first saw 
an illustration of the Indian method of putting the 
dead to rest on platforms built upon stakes. These 
were about twenty feet high and covered with brush. 

199 



IN BARRACK AND FJELD. 

The soil along the Verdegris, and some miles west, is 
very good, and there is good timber on that river and 
its tributaries, but it is not in such abundance as 
on the waters of the Neosho. 



DIARY 1857. 
The Arkansas. The Cimarron. 

July 12. Approaching the Arkansas River, the soil 
becomes gray and rocky, and vegetation stunted. 
Patches of scrub oak and black-jack are frequent. 
Ascending a gentle slope, the valley of the Arkansas 
River suddenly burst into view, and the river, emer- 
ging from two grayish bluffs several leagues away 
to the right, was discovered gleaming in the noon- 
day sun, sweeping along through the broken forest. 

We encamped on the left bank, and prepared to 
make the crossing, which was effected next day, four 
metallic wagon beds bound together serving as a boat 
for the transportation of baggage. On the right bank 
the "Glorious Fourth" was celebrated in due form 
by firing cannon, running horse races, and imbibing 
the necessary quantity of "the spirit of" — rye; all 
finished off and duly spiced by a patriotic display of 
pugilism between a son of Erin and a descendant of 
that same John Bull who was thrown into convul- 
sions of anger and astonishment at his offspring on 
this side of the Atlantic, this same day eighty-one 
years ago. 

Westward from the Arkansas the soil gradually be- 
200 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

comes poorer. Even on the creeks, of which there 
are several within a few days' march, there is but an 
occasional strip of good bottom land, with very little 
timber. 

July 13. By turning two miles off our route yes- 
terday we found wood, water, and a little grass. We 
had met a hunting party of the Big Hill band of 
Osages, who represented to us that we could not reach 
water on our route before nightfall. This, however, 
was doubtless a mere ruse practiced by these "simple" 
children of the forest to induce our command to en- 
camp near them, that they might have an opportunity 
to beg tobacco; for we found water early in our 
march to-day, but no timber, and our fires now are 
of bois de vache, and our water such as the ravines 
have preserved of the last rain, warm and muddy. To- 
day I saw antelopes for the first time and prarie dogs. 

July 16. After marching two days over an arid, 
barren prairie, we came, yesterday, to the Red Fork 
or Little Arkansas. Here we find good grass and 
pure water. Yesterday and day before we marched 
through a sandy desert extending about fifteen miles 
east and west, and southward beyond the limit of 
vision. Throughout this tract, however, there is grass 
sufficient for grazing, with water at convenient dis- 
tances for encampment. 

As we approach this stream the water becomes 
brackish, and has, after standing awhile, a very un- 
pleasant odor. Twenty miles south of here are the 
''great salt plains." Buffalo and other animals, such 
as the red and gray fox, the antelope, the wolf, and 
the prairie dog, are abundant in this vicinity. 

201 



IN BARRACK AND ^ELD. 

July 20. The last four days' march has brought us 
over a most unpromising country. Now the long line 
crept over an unbroken plain, dreary and unrelieved. 
Frequent mirages in the distance, resembling silvery 
lakes, reflecting in their clear, cool waters overhang- 
ing trees of cottonwood, mocked us with delusive 
hopes as we moved wearily on, with parched and 
sometimes bleeding lips. Now, as we came suddenly 
to the banks of some ravine, we leaned forward, 
anxiously gazing into its depths, only to find the bot- 
tom incrusted with sand and often covered with a 
saline sediment resembling that on the shore of a 
salt lake; or, if water answered our longing gaze, 
and, leaping from our horses, we ran eagerly down 
to drink the grateful draught, we found a sal-sul- 
phurous liquid, of which the more we drank the 
more we craved. On the 17th we entered a hilly 
country, and encamped in a beautiful grove in a little 
valley, where, by digging some distance from the bed 
of the stream, comparatively pure water was obtained. 
In all these prairie valleys water is usually found im- 
mediately under the alluvial crust; and if not very 
pure, it is at least cool. 

On the 1 8th the country presented a picturesque 
mountain scenery, appearing to have been, in former 
ages, a vast, unbroken plain, now long since cut into 
a thousand shapeless, precipitous hills and hollows, 
finger marks of the untiring hand of time. Among 
these hills are many narrow hollows where some tim- 
ber and very good grass exist, but no water, except 
it may be in the rainy season, without digging. 

202 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

A Comrade Drinks and Dies. 

We left in the morning (of the i8th) a well of 
pure, cool water, the first that we had had since the 
1 2th that was free of salt. The sun had reached the 
meridian, and seemed to dispense his heat with more 
than usual power. The south wind burned upon our 
faces like a fever. 

The column had halted near the sunmiit of a high 
ridge between two deep hollows. The one on the 
right, from its luxuriant growth of timber, gave prom- 
ise of water for animals and men — a temptation which 
induced many of the latter to leave the ranks without 
the usual ceremony of asking permission. With cup 
and canteen they rushed eagerly down the hill, hope- 
ful to allay their burning thirst. Soon, however, with 
disappointment depicted in their flushed cheeks, they 
toiled slowly back up the steep ascent, having only 
added the fuel of exercise to the fire of thirst. 

The "advance" was sounded again, and as the col- 
umn moved slowly forward over a succession of ridges, 
every hollow, ravine, and gorge among the hills was 
anxiously scrutinized in search of nature's beverage. 
At length, about two o'clock, the "halt" was sounded, 
and we dismounted on the bank of a ravine, where 
a few scrubby cottonwood and elm trees afforded a 
grateful shelter from the scorching sun. The pio- 
neers, digging at the bottom of this ravine, had found 
the long-sought element. It was difficult to separate 
it from the sand; but no matter, the wet sand itself 
pressed to our parched lips was something to be 
grateful for. 

203 



IN BARRACK AND FJELD. 

The press around the water was so great that to an 
officer was assigned the duty of serving it out by 
cupfuls, each man, as he received his allotted portion, 
retiring to give place to another. 

One poor fellow, a private of Company C, after 
drinking his cupful, asked for more. The officer 
warned him of the danger of taking too much, but 
the cravings of nature were stronger than the voice of 
reason. "I had rather die," he said, "than ever want 
water as bad as I have to-day." And so he drank 
more, and two hours after fell into delirium, which 
ended in death. His body lies, in its long rest, on a 
bluflf overlooking the quiet valley of the Cimarron. 
Here, far from loved and loving ones who would have 
planted flowers on his early grave and come at gentle 
eventide to water them with tears, his ashes mingle 
with the mother dust. 

"He is sleeping, he is sleeping, 
With a quiet now, and blest, 
Where the wicked cease from troubling, 
And the weary are at rest." 

But not all unmarked is the spot where poor Charl- 
ton lies. Friendly hands, though rude, have planted 
willows about the little mound, fondly hoping, in their 
great hearts filled vv^ith sorrow that refused to find 
relief in tears, that the sun of that desolate region 
would shine lightly upon them. 

On the 19th, marching out from our encampment, 
and leaving with regret a well of pure, cold water 
under some overhanging willows, the column as- 
cended a high plain. Here the soil changes from 
red to gray and becomes less broken. I observed, on 

204 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

the very summit of a ridge, small pools of water, sur- 
rounded by luxuriant patches of grass. The water 
here in the hilly country seems to be free from salt. 

July 26. The scene in front of the encampment this 
evening is one of unusual beauty. At a distance of 
a few hundred yards, the waters of the Cimarron 
sweep along, almost on a level with the valley. Be- 
yond, a gentle slope, rising in smooth wavelets, pre- 
sents, as the lingering rays of the sun fall lovingly 
upon it, an aspect at once soothing to the imagination 
and striking in contrast to the abrupt bluffs which rise 
up behind and cast their shadows over the camp. The 
march for several days has been through a country 
remarkable for nothing but sand hills and salt water. 
Grazing is better, however, and there is some timber. 

After a two days' march along the valley of the Ci- 
marron, the column, bearing to the left, ascends by a 
winding path to the elevated table-land or plateau 
which stretches away to the south and west as far 
as the vision extends. In the vicinity of our camp 
are numerous small ponds, which, though not usually 
affording water, recent rains have left with a generous 
supply. The scenery where the column debouched 
from the valley is worthy of notice. To the right, as 
we ascend a ridge in a southwesterly course, a range 
of bluffs, rock-ribbed and steep, not too far to leave 
the outlines of each fantastic mold distinct, nor yet 
too close to leave obscured those inequalities which 
would take away the enchantment of distance, rises 
abruptly from the valley below, like embattled walls 
frowning in mockery of the quietude that sleeps along 
the willow-fringed banks of the Cimarron. 

205 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



A FOUL MURDER. 



At this encampment the lieutenant colonel com- 
manding received dispatches from Captain Garnet 
(who with two companies of infantry had been left 
in the valley as an escort to the civil engineers en- 
gaged in marking the southern boundary of Kansas) 
informing him of the murder of an attache of the 
surveying party by two Kiowa Indians. 

A hack drawn by two mules followed the surveyors, 
conveying the implements used in constructing 
mounds at short intervals to mark the line. Besides 
the driver and two men, to whom the work of erect- 
ing these mounds was assigned, it was usually es- 
corted by a guard of four soldiers, who, on this occa- 
sion, were of the infantry. Our little party, on see- 
ing two Indians approach, were entirely unsuspicious 
of any design on their part on anything of greater 
value than their tobacco pouches, and, without the 
least fear or thought of danger, permitted them, on 
approaching a ravine, to follow the ambulance as it 
turned off to the left to find a crossing, while they, 
on foot, went straight across. Fatal delusion ! No 
sooner had they ascended the hill on the opposite side 
of the ravine than the report of a gun swelled up 
from the deep gorge below, sounding the death knell 
of the driver. 

The guard ran back to the brow of the hill, from 
which, at a distance of three or four hundred yards 
and at the very bottom of the ravine, they saw the 
Indians quickly detach the mules from the ambulance, 
remount, and triumphantly gallop away. They even 

206 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

took time in their diabolical coolness to cut some of 
the curtains off the carriage. Several shots were 
fired at them without effect, and, passing around a 
projecting bluff, they were seen no more. 

It is of melancholy interest to reflect on the mali- 
cious manner in which this murder was planned, and 
which is apparent in every movement of the inhuman 
perpetrators, from the moment when they first ap- 
proached the wagon train. It was evidently their in- 
tention at first to shoot the teamster of the hindmost 
wagon. Mark with what cunning dexterity and dia- 
bolical coolness every step tending to their purpose 
was devised and carried out. Approaching the ad- 
vanced part of the train, they place themselves, as 
if by accident, on opposite sides. Step by step they 
fall back from one wagon to another — now exchan- 
ging a "how" with the teamsters as they pass along, 
now holding out the treacherous hand for "tobac." 

At length they are on opposite sides of the last 
wagon, and while the attention of the teamster is 
drawn to the one on his right, the other checks his 
horse in order to place himself behind his intended 
victim, turns the muzzle of his piece toward the wag- 
on, ready by a single movement of the finger to 
launch his unsuspecting fellow-being into eternity. 
At this moment the surveyor's hack appears on the 
summit of a not very distant ridge beyond the shallow 
river. Here is a better chance, or at least a safer 
one, for the perpetration of the foul deed. One of the 
fiends perceives it. A grunt and a motion of the 
hand informs the other, and they move off quietly to 
join our little party. 

207 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

• 

What though our hack is accompanied by a guard 
of four men? They are footmen. The Indian of the 
plains entertains a supreme contempt for an infantry 
soldier. Wanting no other excuse than is usually 
conceded to Indians — that of curiosity — they are re- 
ceived without suspicion, with the friendly "how, 
how." The driver, in order to cross a ravine, finds 
it necessary to diverge from his course. In pursuance 
of their plot, they accompany him. They are mounted 
— it is inconvenient for them to pass over with the 
footmen. Our hackman suspects nothing; their go- 
ing with him to find a crossing is perfectly natural. 
They descend into the hollow out of view of the 
escort, which has already crossed above and ascended 
the opposite hill. Now is their time, and now, while 
our hackman directs his attention to one of these 
"children of the forest," who has ridden up on his 
right, the fatal shot is fired from the other side, and 
he falls without even a death shriek to warn his 
friends. 

Lieutenant Colonel Johnston sent a company of cav- 
alry in pursuit of the murderers. After several days 
the company returned, men and horses exhausted by 
hard marching, never having come in sight of the mis- 
creants. 



A STORM ON THE PLAINS. 

It was sunset on the 25th of July. I was on guard, 
and the officer of the day had selected the guard sta- 
tion on an eminence overlooking the encampment. It 
had not rained for several weeks, and an army of 

208 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

clouds gathering above the horizon, north by west, 
portended, in the opinion of the weatherwise, a heavy 
storm ; but as the wind was in the southwest, I thought 
it questionable. I hastened, however, to post the first 
relief of the guard. 

Crossing the dry channel of a brooklet at the base 
of an abrupt bluff (which we had descended with 
some danger and not a little difficulty), and placing the 
second sentinel on a little mound, we were hurrying 
forward when big drops of rain began to fall around 
us. The wind had suddenly shifted two or three 
points northward, and was now hurrying battalion 
after battalion of clouds across the heavens with great 
rapidity. When we halted at the point selected for 
the third sentinel, we found ourselves shrouded in 
darkness. Finding our way as best we could by the 
flashes of lightning, we hurried on, leaving sentinels 
at proper intervals around the wagon train ; and cross- 
ing a deep ravine — now fast filling with water — we 
ascended a high bank, which, as near as J could judge 
in the almost palpable darkness, was near the spot 
selected for my last sentinel. (I had sent a corporal 
to post sentries on the left.) 

The wind now blew a gale ; I shouted my orders in 
the sentinel's ear, and made my way along the bank 
of the ravine, or creek, to find a place where I knew 
I could cross if I could only reach it in time. This 
point was just opposite the tents of my company. 
Thinking I had moved far enough along the creek, I 
paused to see if I could distinguish the line of tents 
on the opposite bank. Sheltering my face with the 
sleeve of my talma, I gazed long and anxiously, un- 
14 209 



IN BARRACK ANQ FIELD. 

til a vivid flash of lightning disclosed the line of wag- 
ons and the fact that I was yet more than a hundred 
yards from my crossing point. 

I was on the point of moving forward again, when 
a sudden gust of the storm nearly prostrated me. 
And now, as the torrents of rain and hail beat against 
me, and the lurid lightning flashed and blazed in my 
face, and the deep-toned thunder mingled its mutter- 
ings with the howl of the rushing storm, my breath 
came short and thick, and I was fain to turn my face 
from the wind and retrace my steps to a little ravine, 
where an opportune flash had a few minutes before 
prevented my falling headlong to the bottom. 

As I sat there alone in total darkness, relieved only 
by the lurid glare of electric flashes ever and anon 
discharged from the clouds with a crash that shook 
the earth, I could not but feel an awful sense of the 
majesty of the storm that howled above me. How 
minute, how insignificant is man, who, with all his 
boasted power, becomes the toy and plaything of the 
elements ! Drenched to the skin, crouching down at 
the bottom of the ravine to avoid the hailstones 
hurled with such force by the relentless wind, I could 
almost forget my discomfort in reflections on the ter- 
rible sublimity of the scene, and my soul bowed in 
humility to His Majesty, who rules the storm. 

But the fury of the wind was soon spent. Emer- 
ging from the ravine and following the bank of the 
creek until opposite the camp, I hastened to cross, 
wading up to my belt where half an hour before there 
was no running water, and twenty minutes later it 
was swimming. 

210 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Next morning I had the guard to fire off their ri- 
fles in order to clean them after their unavoidable 
wetting, for which piece of supererogation I was 
placed under arrest. 

August 8, 1857. The march yesterday was over a 
high plateau, which seemed to find its limit in the 
horizon. Elevated places in the distance, above the 
silverlike mirages, had all the appearance of clouds. 
Swart shadows, which we not unnaturally took for 
Indians mounted on ponies, and magnified by the me- 
dium of vision to the size of giants, moved before 
and around us with the retreating mist. 

Late in the evening, in a desolate spot among the 
sand hills near the northern extremity of the Amer- 
ican desert, we encamped. Company I had a few 
kegs of water in the wagon — enough to make a cup 
of coffee for each man. Men were sent out to look 
for water, and about half a mile from the encamp- 
ment there was found in a depression a shallow plash 
in which countless tadpoles sported, awaiting trans- 
mutation to frog life. Some of the companies, whose 
officers had not had the foresight to provide water in 
kegs, obtained here a scant supply for coffee, and a 
few of us watered our horses before a guard was put 
over the plash to prevent its use for that purpose. 

At sunset the western horizon was darkened by ris- 
ing clouds, and at eight o'clock we were blessed with 
a grateful shower which furnished us with a bountiful 
supply of that best of beverages. The manner of ob- 
taining it was somewhat novel. Holes of sufficient 
depth were scooped out in the sand and lined with 
gutta-percha talmas, which retained every drop that 

211 



IN BARRACK ANO FIELD. 

fell on them. In this manner many of the men ob- 
tained water for their horses, and nearly all filled 
their canteens. 

We marched this morning at eight, and encamped 
at the Santa Fe road, on the Cimarron, at about 2 
P.M. Here we have plenty of grass, water, and bois 
de vache. At this camp the Santa Fe mail stage 
passed us, and the gentlemanly conductor very kindly 
received letters to be mailed to our friends on his 
arrival at Independence, Mo. 

August 12. In front of our camp to-day is a monu- 
ment of bones, four or five feet in height, said to be 
the remains of about forty mules that perished in 
the snow at this place some years ago. The mornings 
are quite cool, which is indicative of the great eleva- 
tion of the valley at this point. 

August 16. Marched sixteen miles up the Cimar- 
ron, having left the Santa Fe road where on its 
western course it crosses that stream for the last 
time. The high bluffs of broken and cragged rock 
which here bound the narrow valley afford a most 
pleasing interruption of the wearisome monotony of 
plains and sand hills over which the marches of the 
last twelve days have brought us. Here the Cimar- 
ron is yet a mere brook ; its waters, fresh from the 
hills, have not yet found the hungry sand of the great 
desert, which, farther eastward, swallows them up 
and leaves the river nothing but its name, and we 
may say that that too is lost (cimarron). 

The banks are here and there shaded with little 
groves of cottonwood ; and a few adventurous cedars, 
which have obtained a footing in cleft and crevice, 

212 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

look down from the bluffs above. The soil is poor, 
and grass scant, except very near the water. We 
shall find both improved as we ascend the valley. 

The rain is falling in floods ; but, with the good can- 
vas stretched above me, I give myself to reflection 
and the full enjoyment of Nature's music, "the winds 
whistling round me." 

Now the Christian heart goes out in sympathy to 
the poor and shelterless, the loving draw their loved 
ones closer to them, and the lonely and loveless feel 
a deeper and unutterable yearning for affection. Sep- 
arated by many miles of plain and hill and river and 
forest from those who claim the first thoughts of my 
life, this rain, pattering heavily on the strong canvas, 
and the thunder, now rumbling in the distance, now 
bursting near with a crash that makes the earth trem- 
ble, remind me of several ties — of dreams and hopes 
and aspirations of long ago. There is no music like 
the song of Nature. It is no artistic combination of 
sounds, momentarily quickening the pulse till the eye 
sparkles with delightful excitement, nor of deep im- 
passioned notes awakening softer emotions; it is a 
music that speaks to the soul like a voice of the past, 
soothing the mind and inclining it to reflection on the 
awful majesty and unutterable goodness of Him who 
rules the universe. 

August 20. We are now near the source of the 
Cimarron. Immense piles of white and gray sand- 
stone are around us on every hand. Before me, as I 
write, four lofty mounds rise up like grim sentinels 
guarding a deep, narrow gorge through which the 
rivulet enters the valley. These mounds, together 

213 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

with the surrounding bluffs of nearly the same height, 
with their corresponding strata of red, white, and 
bluish sandstone, present the appearance of having 
once been parts of an unbroken plain. The one there 
to the left, with its white sandstone base, surrounded 
by a little thin soil, in which a little grass has sprung 
up, rising in a conical form to the height of seventy- 
five or one hundred feet, and entirely detached from 
the bluffs which bound the valley, awakens a singular 
train of reflections, leading the mind back through the 
dim vista of years, when it might have been the 
foundation of a heathen temple. 

Directly in front of our encampment stands the 
largest, if not the loftiest, mound that can be strictly 
so called which I have seen. It rises with a graceful 
curve to the height of eighty or a hundred feet; here 
a perpendicular ledge of rock (sandstone) about 
forty feet in height on the western side, and declining 
gradually on the north and around toward the east, 
where it disappears in a luxuriant growth of cedars, 
while it to some extent mars the symmetry of the 
lofty pile, yet lends to it a degree of grandeur. From 
this ledge upward the mound is nearly in the shape 
of a cone flattened at the top. Its height is about two 
hundred and fifty feet, and it is surmounted by a 
small cairn erected there by some of our men. 

About half a mile farther west is another mound 
similar to the last, but not so large. Between this 
and the ridge bounding the valley on the west is a 
curious pile of earth and stone darkened with cedar. 
Its detached position, together with its uncouth rough- 
ness, might make the impression that it was thrown 

214 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

up by an eruption ; but the most probable conclusion 
is that it has derived its appearance from the gradual 
tumbling down of the stone, as the rain of centuries, 
perhaps, carried away the earth that once held it up 
to the level of the neighboring mounds. 

From this pile a half mile nearly northward is a 
conical hill which from a distance seems to rest 
against the ridge or form a part of it, but on a near 
approach it is found to be entirely detached. This 
mound rises like a regular cone to within forty or 
fifty feet of the summit, where the regular ascent is 
interrupted by a terrace extending horizontally around 
its sides. This is surmounted by a cone which rises 
to the height of about two hundred feet from the level 
of the valley. The whole mound is ornamented with 
cedars, which have sprung up at irregular distances, 
from the base to the summit. 

From this camp we countermarched several miles, 
and, resuming a westerly direction, ascended another, 
and I believe the head, branch of the Cimarron, now 
so nearly dry as not to afford running water. 

August 24. Rain, mist, fog, and mud ! Cold nights 
and wet blankets ; rations short, men barefoot and 
ragged, supplies due four days ago not yet heard 
from ! 

August 27. I now feel keenly one of the many pri- 
vations to which camp life is incident. Not being al- 
lowed conveyance for even a small trunk, two or three 
books which I selected to bring along as best I could 
have been lost or destroyed. 

September 3. The engineers having run out the line 
of the southern boundary of Kansas from Missouri 

215 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

along the thirty-seventh parallel north latitude to 
New Mexico, a distance of 462 miles and 1,001 feet, 
the escort begins its return march this morning. The 
corner stone is established near the source of Willow 
Creek, a small tributary of the Cimarron. 

September 6. Encamped on the Santa Fe road, near 
the crossing of the Cimarron. Coming down from 
the plains where the command was encamped yester- 
day, our company having been detached in advance, 
we saw a small herd of mustangs. Approaching 
from behind a little ridge, we had come within three 
hundred yards of them, when they raised their heads, 
and, after regarding us a minute as if considering 
whether it were necessary to fly, started off at a swift 
and graceful gallop, a large bay taking the lead, the 
others following closely in his wake, mane and tail 
streaming like banners in the air. What a valuable 
prize would be that black stud which brought up the 
rear with such defiant and graceful leisure! 

Flocks of black birds, curlews, and ducks abound 
in the valley around our camp, affording sport for 
our officers and a plentiful supply of delicacies for 
their own table, with a liberal share for the company 
messes. 

September 7. Early yesterday morning a party of 
traders, returning from New Mexico, passed down 
the road in sight of our encampment. At night, soon 
after dark, two of them returned with the information 
that a party of Kiowas, whom they had met on the 
road some twelve miles below, had reported that about 
three hundred Cheyennes were lying in wait some 
miles farther on, near what is called the nine-mile 

216 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ridge, for the purpose of procuring animals, and had 
warned them that it would be dangerous to proceed. 
Captain A — immediately dispatched a messenger to 
Colonel Johnston and detached a party, under Lieu- 
tenant Ingraham, for the protection of the traders. 
At Colonel J — 's camp reveille was sounded at 3 a.m. ; 
at four the column was in motion, ancl at 8 halted for 
breakfast near our camp. Captain A — 's company 
(I) moved on in advance to the traders' camp, where 
Lieutenant Ingraham had detained the Kiowas until 
daylight. About 3 p.m. the main column came up, 
and after a short rest moved down the valley and en- 
camped about four o'clock, the two companies of in- 
fantry having been left in rear with the train. On 
the morning of the 8th, we were in the saddle at three 
o'clock, and moved on without sound of bugle. There 
was something peculiarly impressive in that silent 
morning march. My position was at the rear of the 
column. It was evident, from the subdued conversa- 
tion going on in the ranks before me, that many of 
the men thought they were about to be led into their 
first battle. 

Colonel Sumner, after a long and tedious pursuit, 
had overtaken the Cheyennes beyond the Arkansas, 
and the engagement which followed had resulted in 
their total rout, the destruction of their wigwams, and 
the capture of many of their ponies. 

Our supply train was expected along the Santa Fe 
road. There was, therefore, some plausibility in the 
story that these wild rovers of the plains, writhing 
under the mortification of defeat and anxious to in 
some measure repair their losses and revenge their 

217 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

supposed wrongs, were watching for an opportunity 
to fall upon the first passing train and capture or 
destroy whatever they could. 

Crossing the valley, we ascend to the table-lands on 
the northern side. As we move quietly along, dim 
and shadowy forms are observed against the horizon 
far to our left. They move, they gallop along in a 
direction parallel to our own. There they are ! there 
they are ! As we strain our eyes in the vain endeavor 
to get a distinct view of their forms, they seem to 
increase to hundreds, and move along in single file 
with that graceful motion characteristic of the Indian 
rider. 

''Head of column to the left ! Trot, march !" Skim- 
ming along the level plain at this rapid gait, as we 
approach them their forms become more distinct ; they 
halt. Are they enemies? Then God and the right be 
with us. 

In the midst of our speculations as to what might 
be the result of our movement, the order to halt is 
suddenly given, and a short consultation is held at the 
head of the column. The guides who had galloped 
forward have returned, and almost by the time they 
have reported the fact the increasing light enables 
us to see with our own eyes that the array of forms 
in our front, the sight of which had raised our anima- 
tion to the battle pitch, is nothing but an immense herd 
of antelopes ! 

Thus closed the first act of the farce; now for the 
second. The column countermarched and resumed 
its former direction. As it approached the point 
where the road, leaving the high prairie, reenters the 

218 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

valley of the Cimarron, the whole line was thrown into 
agitation by seeing an officer, who was slightly in ad- 
vance, gallop back toward the head of the column, 
swinging his hat over his head. This was the place 
at which we had at first expected to find the enemy. 
It was most evident that Lieutenant Bell had discov- 
ered them, for Colonel Johnston promptly directed him 
to gallop forward with his company and put the main 
column into a trot. This pace soon grew into an 
irregular gallop. Currycombs, carbines, and other 
articles of accouterment, breaking loose from the sad- 
dles, were scattered in wild disorder along the road. 
There was every evidence of the excitement incident 
to the beginning of battle by troops unaccustomed to 
it. But Colonel J — is said to have remarked, with 
his characteristic coolness, that it was not worth while 
to hurt our horses, for he did not believe there would 
be any fight. 

As Company K, which had so gallantly led the ad- 
vance at a gallop, moved left into line in front of the 
position supposed to be occupied by the enemy, five 
peaceful Kiowas were discovered sitting upon the 
point of the ridge, evidently regarding the spectacle 
with immense satisfaction. 

What purpose the Indians whom the traders had 
met had in view in reporting that the Cheyennes had 
taken position here with hostile intent can only be 
surmised. Probably their object was to detain the 
traders, by exciting their fears, in order to have the 
better opportunity to fleece them. 

The column had but just halted when the anxiously 
expected supply train was discovered winding slowly 

219 



IN BARRACK AND ^ELD. 

along in the distance, far down the valley. The com- 
mand moved forward to the nearest water and went 
into camp to await its arrival. We ate for dinner the 
last of our supply of bread, with merry hearts, in 
anticipation of fresh stores in sight, not only of rations 
of every sort, but of many needed articles of clothing, 
and especially of tobacco. 

The train arrived about dark. It had not been 
long in camp before the sutlers accompanying it were 
doing a rushing business. Such was the eagerness 
of some of the men to supply themselves that, as re- 
ported, while the traders were waiting on customers 
with all possible dispatch, at the front of their wagons, 
other customers waited on themselves at the rear and 
went on their way without ever asking for their 
change. The traders, not liking this sort of business, 
were constrained to suspend until they had asked and 
obtained guards for their protection. 

By the supply train news was received confirming 
the report of Colonel Sumner's victory over the Chey- 
ennes. 

From this point we moved back along the Santa 
Fe trail, with a view to returning east by way of the 
north fork of the Canadian River. 

Down the Canadian. 

The following extracts from my diary indicate the 
direction of our route and the character of the coun- 
try over which it led : 

September i6. There is a cold wind this morning, 
the breath of autumn, warning us of the approach of 
hoary winter. 'Tis such a day as brings to mind the 

220 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

sparkling fire on the homestead hearth. Yet eight 
hundred miles, half of it through a region little known, 
are to be measured before we reach winter quarters; 
and already many of the men, as before hinted, are 
sadly in need of new clothing and shoes. Our en- 
campment is a few miles south of the Santa Fe road. 
The summits of Round Mound and one of the Rabbit 
Ear peaks are just visible over the ridge to the west. 
It is said that this valley sheds its waters into the 
Canadian. 

September 17. Too cold last night to sleep com- 
fortably with a single blanket. I think there must 
have been frost this morning. Cottonwood Creek, 
upon which we are encamped, is a timbered ravine, 
having its source near the Santa Fe road, in view of 
Round Mound, and running south of east a few miles 
to the northeast of the Rabbit Ear mounds. 

September 19. We are now fairly on the return 
march, having left the Santa Fe trail to-day and 
moved eighteen miles down the Rabbit Ear, a branch 
of the Canadian. The soil here is poor and sandy. 
The scenery is not unlike that of the region where 
we have lingered for several days past. Numerous 
mounds, rising from the elevated plains toward the 
west, with groves of cottonwood in the foreground 
along the creek, give the country a picturesque ap- 
pearance. 

September 22. (Morning.) Camp on Rabbit Ear. 
Marched yesterday about seventeen miles over a high 
plain to the right of the Rabbit Ear. Not a sprig of 
timber has relieved the view since yesterday morning. 
We had light rain — very cold. It is quite pleasant 

221 



IN BARRACK AND FJELD. 

this morning. Reveille at four; general (signal to 
strike tents) at six. This portends a long march. 
Course yesterday, one degree south of east. 

(Evening.) After marching about sixteen miles 
over a high plain, we were agreeably surprised at com- 
ing to a small lake, where we are now encamped. 
This lake — or plash, rather — is about a mile in circum- 
ference, and is situated in a sort of basin scooped out 
of the high plateau, six or eight miles north of the 
north fork of the Canadian. It is so shallow that 
grass rises out of the water all over it, but there is 
enough water for a much larger command than ours. 
As the column approached, a herd of about twenty 
mustangs was seen scurrying away over the plain. 

September 2^. Marched due east. Camp on Cana- 
dian. No timber. Our fuel is chiefly wild sage and 
other weeds. Very pleasant weather. I got hold of 
a copy of Byron to-day. Noted these lines : 

And when we bid adieu to youth, 
Slaves to the specious world's control, 

We sigh a long farewell to truth ; 
That world corrupts the noblest soul. 

This is very sad, if not cynical. But why be slaves 
to such control? 

September 24. Camp on Canadian. Marched seven- 
teen miles. Passed, this evening, a Kiowa village. 
They have very fine horses and comfortable lodges. 
They are stalwart and active, and as ugly as his Sa- 
tanic majesty. 

September 25. Camp on Canadian. Marched twen- 
ty miles, east southeast, winding among sand hills. We 
have timber again, and very salt water. A long, nar- 

222 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

row lake in rear of the encampment very salty. A 
branch which rises in the sand hills to the left runs 
through the lake, and empties into the river half a 
mile below. A creek comes in from the right several 
miles above. 

Implicit Obedience: Anecdote of Gen. Joseph 
E. Johnston. 

Sometimes a boy or even a young man imagines 
that a strict compliance with instructions received 
from his employer is not necessary. Perhaps he 
thinks he knows a better way to accomplish what is 
required of him than that pointed out for him. He 
has been told to do a thing at a certain time; but 
some other time, earlier or later, suits his convenience 
better. So, in the exercise of his discretion, he de- 
parts from the letter of his instructions, in a greater 
or less degree, as his convenience or inclination may 
suggest. Such departure from the instructions does 
not in every case result disastrously, but it is always 
liable to do so. No man, however wise to plan and 
skillful to execute, can be sure of the success of any 
enterprise in which subordinates are to be employed 
until assured that his employees will, in good faith, 
carry out his instructions in every detail. 

In military affairs, a strict and prompt compliance 
with orders is indispensable. This fact Colonel John- 
ston impressed upon all who served for any length of 
time under him. 

Bearing himself with a knightly courtesy toward all 
who showed themselves worthy, he exacted of every 
subordinate unquestioning obedience to orders. The 

223 



IN BARRACK AND ^lELD. 

absence of anything like friction in the conduct of ev- 
ery department of his command put beyond question 
his administrative abihty. No detail of any branch of 
the service was too small for his attention. 

An incident occurred soon after we left camp this 
morning that illustrates his habit of requiring a strict 
compliance with orders. 

It was my turn to command the guard. I was in- 
structed by the officer of the day to ride at the head 
of the wagon train, which was sent forward some time 
before the cavalry moved. The proximity of Indians 
doubtless suggested unusual precaution. 

Any cavalryman who has tried it knows that to curb 
trained cavalry horses down to the ordinary gait of 
a wagon train requires constant attention. I found it 
so on this occasion, and deemed it a sufficiently strict 
compliance with orders when I allowed the horses of 
the guard to move at their usual gait until a hundred 
or a hundred and fifty — possibly at times two hun- 
dred — yards in advance of the train, then halt, wait for 
it to come up, and then advance again. We had pro- 
ceeded in this way several miles when, becoming in- 
terested in the discussion of some geometric problem 
with the corporal of the guard, I had moved out far- 
ther from the train than at any time before. It had 
just occurred to me that it was time to halt, when 
I heard the tramp of a horse that was evidently, from 
the sound, not in column. Looking back, I discovered 
Colonel Johnston close upon me. 

"Sergeant," said he, ''what orders did the officer 
of the day give you this morning?" 

224 " 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

"He directed me to ride at the head of the train, 
sir." 

"I'll have you to understand that you are to obey 
orders, sir." 

Passing me as he uttered this sharp rebuke, and 
evidently not expecting a reply, I turned quickly to the 
guard and gave the commands : "Halt ! Dismount !" 

There was no better disciplinarian in the army than 
Joseph E. Johnston. He impressed his personality on 
officers and men in such a knightly way that all desired 
to win his approval, and were usually as careful not to 
incur his displeasure as a dutiful child to avoid pa- 
rental reproof. 

September 26. Crossed to the right bank of the 
river, and, following a direction parallel with its course 
for about sixty miles, crossed again to the north bank 
on the 29th. 

Our route led usually over ridges from which plen- 
ty of timber along the river could be seen. 

Small tributaries running into the Canadian from 
the south afforded abundance of water. At the point 
where we crossed to the left bank veins of chalk were 
found under a substance resembling plaster of Paris. 
On the 30th we bade adieu to the Canadian, and, after 
marching sixteen miles northeast, encamped on some 
ponds near a deep ravine. 

Moved from this camp in a northeasterly direction, 
reaching the Cimarron and crossing it on the 5th of 
October, at the mouth of Red Fork. Passed the salt 
plains on the loth, the Red Fork of the Arkansas on 
the 13th, and arrived at the Kansas line on the 14th. 
From this point the expedition followed the route pur- 
15 225 



IN BARRACK ANQ FIELD. 



sued on its outward march, back to the Missouri line, 
and on to Fort Leavenworth, where it arrived Novem- 
ber 15, having been out exactly six months. 



IN WINTER QUARTERS. 

After the long summer tramp "the command" is 
again safely housed in winter quarters. Uncle Sam 
has opened his purse and reduced his surplus by a 
fair divide with the boys. The boys have visited the 
sutler and supplied themselves with a superabundance 
of the things they most felt the want of while on the 
tramp, some of them buying such quantities that one 
would suppose they expected to start immediately on 
another expedition that would carry them beyond all 
opportunity of buying again. 

The squad room is alive with chuck-a-luck, roulette, 
faro, vingt et iin, rouge et noir, three-up, seven-up, 
poker — all the devices whereby gamblers contrive to 
fleece the unwary. 

Here at one end of the long room, where the fire- 
place opens with an expanse that calls to mind the 
generous hospitality of your ancestral home, an "even- 
ing group" is drawn and stories of the late summer 
tramp, as well as other stories, are in order. Some 
of these stories linger in memory, and several of 
them are here presented, as illustrative of different 
phases of the life of the soldier of that day, on the 
plains and in garrison, or wherever he served, as well 
as of individual character. 

226 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

A RAINY NIGHT ON PICKET. 

I HAVE no incident to relate under this caption. It 
is only a phase of soldier life. To the old soldier the 
headline tells it all. To the uninitiated, to the farmer 
lad, who, in the midst of the peaceful surroundings 
of his rural home, may accommodate his business to 
the vagaries of the v^eather, v^hen he begins, as boys 
do, to grow discontented and to look upon his quiet 
life as a humdrum existence altogether unfitted for a 
lad of spirit, it may be well to suggest that the routine 
of camp duties is not to be broken by a shower or a 
bit of snow. 

Sitting at your cozy fireside, in the old homestead 
on the hill, where with the morning sun you can look 
out over the dewy fields, you say: ''We're going pos- 
sum-hunting to-morrow night." To-morrow night it 
rains, and, instead of the hunt, you frolic with the 
boys in the barn. Or, mayhap, some of the boys 
have brought their sisters. In that case, the big room 
is cleared and you have "twistification," and "blind- 
man's buff," and "hunt the thimble," and "Brother 
I'm bobbed;" and if you happen to think of the rain, 
you are glad it did rain. Or, perhaps, your good 
father, thoughtful each evening of plans for the en- 
suing day, as good farmers are, that each worker may 
be ready for his part without confusion, announces 
that "We must trim the hedge around the red-top 
pasture to-morrow." In the morning you are called 
from your dreams by your restless, enthusiastic young- 
er brother, Tom, yelling at the top of his voice : "Gee 
whillikins ! the ground is covered with snow ! It is 

227 



IN BARRACK AND ^lELD. 

three inches deep!" "O pap, let us boys go rabbit- 
huntin'. You know you said you would first time 
it snowed." So the hedge holds its too luxuriant 
growth until a more seasonable day for trimming, and 
thus the alternations of sunshine and rain, and of 
summer and wintry weather, only enable you the bet- 
ter to mix rational sport with honest toil. 

But how- is it with the soldier ? Mark the contrast. 
You are detailed for picket. You see it is going 
to rain, but you must go. It may rain as if old Plu- 
vius had set in to empty all his pails upon you — no 
matter, you must stick to your post. The whole plain 
may be covered with snow a foot in depth, glazed so 
smoothly on top that the wind does not know it is 
there. Grim old Boreas, coming out of his cave in 
the far north and sweeping down to search your very 
bones, feels no friction as he glides along, so glassy is 
the plain. If you face him bravely, he nips your 
nose; turn your back upon him, and he pinches your 
ears until they are blue and feel as if they would 
break like glass. If you stoop to avoid his obtrusive 
breath, he creeps under your collar, down your spine, 
into your very boots. Your toes seem to be getting 
heavy, and — well, the only good thing about it is 
you're glad, very glad, when you see the relief coming. 

I remember one night's picketing near Lecompton — 
not, however, on account of any suffering or hardship. 
I think it was fixed in my memory by two circum- 
stances. It rained all night, and I slept all night on 
the ground without shelter, with a rock for my pillow, 
and felt no ill effects from it afterwards. 

The picket consisted of three men and myself. On 
228 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

arriving at the point to which my orders directed me, 
I asked the men whether they preferred to take reg- 
ular turns of two hours on post, or to divide the 
night into three watches and each take one, so that he 
could have his entire time on the post at once. They 
preferred the latter plan, and, giving number one his 
orders, I handed him my watch and told him to call 
number two when his watch expired. Number two 
was instructed to call number three, and I was not to 
be disturbed except in case of alarm. Lying down, 
I drew my feet up under my talma, the cape of my 
cap cover down over my collar, and, with my head on 
a convenient rock, was soon asleep. I waked at day- 
light to find one of my boots nearly full of water. I 
had thrust one foot out and, my trousers being tucked 
in the boot leg, the water running off the talma had 
run into the boot. I was dry everywhere else. The 
boys reported that it rained all night. 



''AN UNPARDONABLE NEGLECT OF DUTY." 

In military service occasions frequently arise when 
the soldier, in the discharge of duty, must be deaf to 
the voice of humanity. The suggestions of sympa- 
thy may move the heart to pity, but military law is 
inexorable, as well as arbitrary, and holds the soldier 
rigidly to the line of duty. Pity's tears shall melt the 
eternal granite ere Mars shall feel their softening 
power. Any one can recall illustrations of this sad 
truth in times of war. That even in the tranquil times 

229 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

of peace the soldier must be on his guard against his 
softer sentiments, was aptly illustrated in a bit of ex- 
perience that came to me on the expedition of the 
southern boundary survey of Kansas. It was on Wil- 
low Creek, one of the head branches of the Cimarron, 
among the foothills where that stream begins its 
course. Time, the last days of August. 

It had been raining a good deal, and the nights 
were uncomfortably cold — so much so that men who 
were well clad usually gathered close about the camp 
fires until taps. Many of the men were sadly in need 
of new clothing, supplies, now overdue, having failed 
to reach us. Some were barefoot. I had command 
of the guard one night, when one of these barefoot 
men was on Post No. i, near the guard fire. It was 
unusually cold, and so dark that the light from our 
fire scarcely made visible objects less than twenty 
feet away. The sentry, walking to and fro near the 
fire, was tempted to approach and warm his be- 
numbed toes at its cheerful blaze. At this moment 
the officer of the day. Lieutenant , suddenly ap- 
peared on the opposite side of the fire. No one had 
seen him approach. Some one uttered, in an under- 
tone, the warning words : "Sergeant, the officer of the 
day." I looked up, and he was there. I could think 
of nothing to say or do that would have been appro- 
priate to the occasion. In fact, I was somewhat in the 
condition of a certain Tar Heel of Buncombe Coun- 
ty, N. C, Bill Wilkins by name. Bill's immense ca- 
pacity in the use of profane language had won for 
him a broad reputation in that line. Upon the slight- 
est provocation he would roll out oaths with a volu- 

230 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

bility that would put to shame the most accomplished 
sailor. The habit had grown on him until it was be- 
lieved that he knew no other language of emotion. 
On a fine morning in autumn, Bill, having made prep- 
aration the evening before for an early start, set out 
from his mountain home with a cart load of apples 
for market. Some miles on the way there was a hill 
which the road ascended, at a sharp angle, several 
hundred feet. Slowly the patient oxen toiled up the 
steep ascent, stopping now and then to "git their 
wind." They had nearly reached the summit, when 
one of the wheels dropping off a rock gave the cart 
such a jar that the tail gate of the bed sprang out at 
the bottom, and the apples began to pour out. Bill 
simply said "Whoa," and stood, silent, looking at the 
big red apples chasing each other down the long 
slope to the very bottom. A farmer who had been 
chopping in the woods close by witnessed the acci- 
dent. Bill's extraordinary conduct amazed him, and 
he called out : "Hello, Bill ; why don't you cuss ?" 

With the emphasis of intense disgust, Bill respond- 
ed: "Cuss? hell, I kain't do the subject jestice." 

Nor could I, on this occasion, "do the subject jes- 
tice." I was conscious that I had no excuse to ren- 
der for letting the sentry stop at the fire, that would 
count from a military standpoint. 

"What does this mean. Sergeant?" asked the officer 
of the day sharply. 

"You see the condition of the sentry's feet, sir," I 
replied. "He had but this moment stopped to warm 
them." 

"An unpardonable neglect of duty. Sergeant ; an un- 
231 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

pardonable neglect of duty, sir. See that it does not 
occur again." And the officer of the day went on his 
rounds. 

On the next day a man who served the officers' 
mess told me that the lieutenant had, while at break- 
fast, spoken of the hardship of the men doing guard 
duty without shoes and expressed his sympathy for 
them, and that was the last I heard of this case of 
"unpardonable neglect of duty." 



GOOD FELLOWSHIP. 

For genuine good fellowship, commend me to the 
American soldier. He may be rude at times, or un- 
couth, as viewed under ordinary lights. It is in times 
of trial that his higher and truer qualities shine forth, 
as delicate flowers that spring among briers and 
thorns where you least expect to find them. He will 
divide the last gill of water in his canteen with a 
comrade when his own throat is parched with thirst. 
Under whatever circumstances comradeship appeals 
to his self-abnegation and sympathy, his heart re- 
sponds with a refinement and delicacy of feeling like 
that which in woman wins the devotion of men. It 
would be a mistake to suppose that the ties between 
soldiers grow out of the exhibition of the heroic in 
character. They are drawn together rather by the 
endurance of common hardships and privations, by 
their isolation from earlier associations, and, above all, 
by mutual amenities, for which occasions constantly 

232-* 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

arise in the routine of service, and in the practice of 
which the ties of comradeship are so strengthened that 
they will hold amid the perils of war, inspiring men to 
deeds of daring in support of each other and of their 
leaders. 

If one will read between the lines in the sketch 
which follows, he may see faintly outlined something 
of that generous consideration for his comrades which 
characterizes the American soldier. Time, late in 
September, 1857; place, the sandy region of the Up- 
per Canadian. 

Following the trail made over the ridges of sand 
by the cavalry, the tired mules dragged the train of 
wagons wearily on, until, late in the evening, the col- 
umn turned sharply to the right and, crossing the dry 
bed of a small run, entered a rolling prairie where the 
surface was solid and of sufficient fertility to produce 
a light growth of grass. A rain coming on so soft- 
ened the earth that the mules, weak from insufficient 
forage and partially exhausted by the hard pulling 
over the sand, were driven forward with much diffi- 
culty. One of the teams in the baggage train became 
so exhausted that it was found necessary to turn it 
aside in order not to delay the others. It belonged 
to Company I. 

The acting quartermaster sergeant of the company, 
in fulfillment of his duty to see the last wagon into 
camp, remained behind with this one, accompanied by 
two or three men detailed to assist the teamster when 
it became necessary to put shoulders to the wheels. 
A cold, drizzling rain prevailed. 

When the party with the wagon arrived in camp, 
233 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

long after dark — cold, wet, and weary — ^they were 
cheered by the sight of a roaring log fire blazing up 
against the trunk of a big cottonwood that chanced 
to lie opposite the ground assigned to their company, 
and which the men had made haste to preempt. For 
weeks our fuel had been only bois de vache. 

The unexpected change was most gratifying to our 
belated travelers. Whisky had been issued to the 
command, and our wagon party also received their 
share — a gill each — on arrival. This, with the fire 
about which they grouped, made them quickly forget 
the toils and discomforts of the day. Some of the 
men had killed a fat young buffalo in the evening, 
and the acting quartermaster sergeant was presented 
with a juicy roast. Borrowing a skillet, he proceeded 
to cook it according to his own ideas of the culinary 
art. Having arranged a fire about it to his satisfac- 
tion, he was sitting by watching it when a friend of 
his. Private Henry Houston, approached him, saying: 
"Sergeant, come to the tent with me. I want to see 
you a minute." Without the remotest idea of what 
his friend had to say to him, he rose and went with 
him. Entering the tent, his friend stooped down and, 
taking from behind a knapsack at the back of the tent 
a tin cup, handed it to him. "Whisky was issued this 
evening," he said. "I did not want any, so I kept this 
for you. I knew you would be wet and cold." 

The sergeant, having already drunk his gill, urged 
Houston to drink it himself. But he refused, and 
the sergeant, to please him and show himself not un- 
grateful, drank the extra gill, and returned to the 
fire to watch his roast. 

234 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

In a little while, having occasion to go to the com- 
missary wagon to issue sugar to one of the company 
messes, the sergeant had climbed into the wagon and 
had weighed out the sugar, when Private Battles 
raised the wagon sheet at one side, and, thrusting a 
cup at him, said: ''Here's some whisky I kept for 
you, Johnnie." 

"Well, it's very kind of you," replied the sergeant, 
"but I've had enough ; I've drunk two rations al- 
ready." 

"Pshaw ! drink it. If you don't, I'll never save an- 
other thing for you." 

Now Frank Battle was a good fellow, and a native 
of the sergeant's own county, in the good old State of 
Georgia. So to oblige him he took the cup, stirred 
some sugar in the whisky, and sent it, or rather a 
part of it (for he managed to spill a portion), to join 
the contribution which his good friend Houston had 
made to his inner comfort. Then the sergeant went 
back to watch the cooking of his roast. 

He had not long enjoyed the merry chat of com- 
rades about the big log fire when he was called on 
again to supply some article from the commissary. 
A friendly corporal heard the request, and thinking, 
doubtless, that the sergeant was tired, kindly offered 
to attend to the matter for him. His services, how- 
ever, were declined, the sergeant saying, rather gruff- 
ly : "I reckon I can attend to my business." 

Going to the rear end of the commissary wagon, he 
put his hands on the ends of the bottom rails, and 
leaped — 

They were kindly hands that lifted him from un- 
235 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

der the wagon and bore him gently and silently to 
his tent, careful to avoid observation. 

Poor fellow, he had not thought of the peculiar ef- 
fect, on one long unaccustomed to it, of — a cotton- 
wood fire ! 

When the sergeant awoke at reveille next morning, 
none the worse for his late exposure to the rain and 
cold, he bethought him of certain preparations for 
supper in which he had been engaged. There was 
a vague impression on his mind that he had fallen 
asleep without having realized certain appetizing an- 
ticipations of feasting on a choice bit of buffalo. 

"Boys, what became of my roast?" 

His comrades manifested surprise at this question, 
and assured him that he had partaken of it most 
heartily. He was somewhat incredulous, for he had 
no recollection of anything at all after his leap at 
the wagon. 

If he was the victim of a conspiracy, his comrades 
never confessed it, and his captain would, at any 
time, have certified that the sergeant was never drunk 
while he commanded the company. 

Possibly there are old campaigners in the army to- 
day who could give you a ready solution of any mys- 
tery that may appear in the case. 



RETRIBUTION. 

There is an unwritten law of retribution. Statutes 
of the commonwealth, civil and criminal, often fail 
to effect the purposes of their enactment, and, through 

236- 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

imperfections in the machinery provided for their 
execution, cease to be operative. But this unwritten 
law is never suspended; its decrees are certain, its 
penalties are inexorable. A man may do murder or 
commit any other heinous crime against his fellow- 
man, and escape the sentence of the penal code; but 
that retribution will follow and at last overtake him 
is as sure as that Dame Nature punishes every viola- 
tion of her laws. Not always is the punishment ap- 
parent. The criminal may conceal his crime, but 
there is no secret covert where he can hide himself 
from the demon of remorse. 

Among the supplies provided for the expedition on 
the southern boundary line of Kansas was a herd of 
beef cattle. Four Mexican herders drove them by 
day and watched to prevent their straying by night. 
Sometime before the expedition left Fort Leaven- 
worth, there enlisted one Marston, who had been a 
soldier in the British army. He was a "rough," and 
talked much of himself and of his feats of courage. 
He boasted of having beaten a British officer, and of 
having saved himself from the consequences of his 
mutinous act by escaping from prison and from the 
guard, under circumstances requiring extraordinary 
coolness, courage, and resolution. Some of the less 
thoughtful looked upon him as a marvel, and envied 
his self-reported prowess ; but the larger number were 
disgusted by his bravado, and liked not his society. 

It required no learned physiognomist to translate 
the word "brute" that Nature had stamped upon his 
features, and "bullyism" was easily read between the 
lines of his self-laudation. He professed a perfect 

237 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

acquaintance with the duties of the soldier under 
army regulations, and was doubtless proud of an op- 
portunity, presented very early in the campaign, to 
illustrate his exact knowledge, as well as his devotion 
to the doctrine of strict construction. 

One night when Marston was on guard one of the 
Mexican herders, riding around the cattle in the dis- 
charge of his duty of keeping them from separating, 
came near his post. Marston challenged him, and, 
either not hearing or not satisfied with the Mexican's 
answer, shot the poor fellow through the body. He 
alleged afterwards that he heard no answer to his 
challenge. On the other hand, the three other herders, 
who were at the time on the opposite side of the herd, 
stated that they heard the challenge, "Who comes 
there?" and their comrade's answer, "Mexicano," and 
that the dead man could not speak English. 

I do not remember what action was taken by the 
authorities. My impression is that a Court of Inquiry 
was ordered. Possibly it Vv^as decided that the senti- 
nel was only too zealous in the discharge of what he 
understood to be his duty. 

About five months afterwards, when the expedition 
on its return march had reached the settlements north 
of Fort Scott, and when snow deeply covered the 
broad prairies and icicles glittered on the leafless 
trees along the water courses, Marston failed to ap- 
pear at reveille roll call. It was expected that he 
would come up at the next camp, but he did not, and 
we saw him no more. The impression prevailed 
among the men that the Mexican herders had killed 
him, in revenge of their countryman, and they talked 

238 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

of it as a thing to have been expected, and for which 
the Mexicans were not to be blamed. It was be- 
Heved that he had falsely pretended not to hear his 
victim's answer to his challenge, and had shot him 
down in mere bravado and indifference to human life. 
In short, his comrades regarded him as an assassin, 
and were glad to be rid of him. 

It was in the next year, at that season when grass 
and flowers, instead of snow, clothed the vast prairies, 
and pendent icicles had given place, on tree and vine, 
to dark green verdure. At a house about a mile from 
the public road, and some thirty miles north of Fort 
Scott, two cavalrymen from a passing squadron 
called, in quest of some product of the farm or dairy. 

How it delights the cavalryman's soul to get away 
from the dusty road, away from the trampling of the 
horses, on such an errand! How delightful to sit in 
front of the hospitable door and quaff a bowl of sweet 
milk, pure and deliciously cool, while the mind wan- 
ders back to the old spring house and hears the soft 
and tender music of the water bubbling among jars 
of the delicious fluid! And then, with canteens filled 
and haversack stuffed with big fat yams, to ride 
back, taking a route that would bring him up with 
the column and into camp just at the latest moment 
that a proper regard for discipline would allow. 

The two cavalrymen, having enjoyed their refresh- 
ments and obtained such articles as they wanted to 
carry away, were preparing to remount when the 
farmer came from around the house and greeted them. 
Greetings exchanged, they asked him some questions 
about the route they wished to pursue, and, having 

239 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

received his replies, were about to ride away when 
the farmer, in his turn, asked a question: "Say, was 
you uns with the cavalry that camped down here on 
the road 'bout a mile one night last October when it 
snowed so?" 

"Yes, our command camped there." 

"Well, didn't you uns lose a man at that camp ?" 

"Yes, I believe we did." 

"Well, do you uns know what become of him?" 

"Never been heard of since." 

"Well, I kin tell you. Leastways, a man in uni- 
form like you uns has on was found several days 
arter the cavalry camped there, 'bout halfway 'twixt 
here an' the camp, lyin' in the snow, dead as Hector. 
There warn't a scratch on his body — jes' only ol' 
scars, an' a gallon jug 'bout half full o' whisky was 
settin' by 'im. An' we foun' out he had been to a 
place not fur from here where a fellar was sellin' 
whisky, an' got 'is jug filled, 'n' he hung aroun' thar 
'til about ten o'clock, 'n' was purty boozy when he 
left. So we uns decided 't he jest got too drunk to 
travel 'n' lay down in the snow 'n' froze to death." 

"Good riddance!" remarked one of the cavalrymen. 

"So the Mexicans didn't get him, after all," said 
the other, and they rode off, leaving the honest farmer 
much puzzled by their comments. 

240 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

THE SERGEANT BECOMES A PRIVATE, AND 

GETS A TASTE OF PETTY TYRANNY 

FLAVORED WITH ONIONS. 

In the autumn of 1858, at Fort Leavenworth, I had 
a disagreement with my captain ; and since I could 
not dismiss him from office, I decided to dismiss my- 
self, and tendered my resignation, having been a ser- 
geant three and a half years. It was accepted. 

A few days afterwards I was, through the kindness 
of Captain Carr, detailed for extra duty in the com- 
missary department. Lieutenant Baily, an infantry 
officer, was acting post commissary, and had for his 
clerk one Wilson, a citizen. My ordinary duties were 
to keep the commissary stores in order, weigh out 
rations, saw wood for the office stove, and do the 
drudgery of the business generally. The one redeem- 
ing feature about it was the freedom from responsi- 
bility. The duties were mainly routine in character, 
and when anything out of the usual order came up 
I simply had to carry out the directions given. It 
was a humble employment, but the work was light, 
and there was no reason why it should have been 
disagreeable. I soon found, however, that Wilson 
had an exceedingly high sense of his importance, and 
was, for my peace, too fond of exercising his author- 
ity. 

I had been there but a few days when one morn- 
ing he directed me to carr}^ a piece of beef to Lieu- 
tenant Baily 's kitchen. 

^'Hasn't Lieutenant Baily a servant?'' I asked. 

''Yes," he replied, 'T suppose he has, but he will ex- 
16 241 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

pect you to carry his beef. The young man we had 
here before always did it." 

We had some other talk about it, which ended with 
my refusal to obey. 

When Lieutenant Baily came in, as he usually did 
every morning, to attend to such matters as required 
his attention in the office, I was sitting by the stove 
in a small room adjoining the storeroom in which was 
the clerk's desk. He had given his directions for the 
day and was, I suppose, about to go out when Wilson 
said to him : "Lieutenant, I had a very nice piece of 
beef for you this morning, but this young man we've 
got here refused to carry it round." 

''Refused to carry it round?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Where is he?" 

I supposed that Wilson was aware that I was in the 
stove room ; but whether he was or not, I was unwill- 
ing to listen to a conversation not intended by both 
parties for my hearing. I therefore arose and went 
into the storeroom. As I entered Lieutenant Baily 
said: "How's this, Beall? T^'Ir. Wilson tells me you 
refused to take a piece of beef to my quarters this 
morning." 

"Lieutenant," I replied, "I have never been accus- 
tomed to doing anything like that. If you want a 
man for that kind of service, I suppose there are plen- 
ty of men in the garrison who are willing to do it, 
and I hope it will put you to no inconvenience to send 
me to my company and get another man. I would 
much prefer it." 

2J.2 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

"My understanding of the duty of a soldier," said 
he, "is that he is to obey orders." 

"Yes, sir, I also have been so taught; but I be- 
lieve the army regulations do not require a soldier to 
perform a menial service." 

"Do you consider that a menial service?" 

"Yes, sir." 

Receiving an intimation that the interview was 
ended, I returned to the stove room. The Lieutenant 
remained some time longer and was going out when 
Wilson said to him : "What shall we do about this 
young man. Lieutenant? Hadn't we better get an- 
other man ? He is likely to give us trouble." 

"Put him in the guardhouse." 

I smiled to myself when I heard this. "Old Bull 
of the Woods" might be opposed to raising a soldier 
from the ranks by promotion, but he could be relied 
on to protect him in the ranks. 

I went to Captain Carr, explained the situation 
to him, and asked to be returned to the company. 
He expressed regret that I was dissatisfied. He said 
that he had gotten me detailed for the place, suppos- 
ing it would be somewhat unpleasant to me to serve 
in the ranks where I had so long exercised the author- 
ity of a sergeant. He told me, however, to return to 
the commissary, and that he would see what could 
be done for me. Wilson now began to exercise 
his ingenuity to entrap me ino some punishable of- 
fense. 

One day he directed me to take an empty barrel 
to the colonel's back yard, doubtless expecting me to 
refuse. But I knew that general orders required the 

243 



IN BARRACK AND ^lELD. 

commissary department to furnish barrels for the slops 
at officers' quarters for the purpose of their being car- 
ried off by the police carts, and decided that the de- 
partment might be required to put them there. So I 
rolled the barrel down to the colonel's quarters and 
set it over his yard fence. 

But the culmination of Wilson's meanness in putting 
petty vexations upon me was an order to transfer a 
barrel of pickled onions from a leaking barrel to a 
good one that would hold the vinegar. There were 
no cooper's tools in the store. I had to take the 
onions one at a time and drop them through a bung- 
hole. It may be readily imagined that it was with no 
little satisfaction that, when the last precious pickle 
had been transferred to the new vessel, I left the per- 
fumed precincts of the cellar and reported to Mr. Wil- 
son that the work was done. 

I had heard no mention of the beef matter since my 
interview with Captain Carr. Several days had 
elapsed, wdien one morning Wilson called me to the 
back end of the storeroom, whence a staircase led 
down to the cellar. As I approached, he began to 
descend the stairs, saying: "That girl of Lieutenant 
Baily's came after beef this morning. She wouldn't 
go down into this dark place with me to get it, and 
you'll have to carry it round." 

*'No, I won't," I replied, and, turning on my heel, 
walked straight back to where I had been employed. 
Wilson was evidently shocked at my obstinacy, but 
said nothing. 

Self-esteem is commendable; but when a man at- 
tempts to impose on another, his equal in every way, 

244 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

services that he would not stoop to himself, his self- 
esteem becomes insolence. Wilson thought too much 
of himself to bring a piece of beef up out of the 
cellar ; but a United States soldier was not too good, 
forsooth, in his estimation, to bring it up and carry 
it to an officer's kitchen. 

With this I dismiss him. He was only the repre- 
sentative of a class that ought to have no existence 
in the army, and whose places should be given as 
rewards of merit to faithful and intelligent enlisted 
men. 

A LONG MARCH. 

About this time a movement of troops from Fort 
Leavenworth relieved me from my unpleasant posi- 
tion, and the kindness of Captain Carr secured me a 
very agreeable one. Having sent for me one day, he, 
after some questions relating to my fitness for the 
office of hospital steward, informed me that our 
squadron was ordered to Fort Washita, in the Chick- 
asaw Nation, and would move in three days, and di- 
rected me to report to Dr. Page, who was to go as 
surgeon of the command. I did as directed ; and hav- 
ing answered the Doctor's questions to his satisfac- 
tion, as far as I could judge, he told me to go to the 
post hospital and tell the steward to teach me all he 
could about the duties of the office in the three days 
before our departure. The steward, who was a German 
— I regret that I have forgotten his name — very amia- 
bly accepted the task of instructing me, and did his 
work so well that I had no difficulty afterwards in the 
performance of the duties required. 

245 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

At the time appointed our squadron, consisting of 
Company C, Captain Thomas J. Wood, and Company 
I, Captain Eugene A. Carr, Captain Wood command- 
ing the squadron, took up the Hne of march for Fort 
Washita. I have to regret that I kept no notes of 
this march, vv^hich led us through a country abound- 
ing in charming scenery. The route was by Fort 
Scott, Kans., Tahlequah, the capital of the Cherokees, 
and old Fort Gibson, on the Neosho near its confluence 
with the Arkansas; crossing the chief western trib- 
utaries of the Missouri and the Mississippi, between 
the Platte on the north and Red River on the south; 
traversing the lands of the Cherokees, the Creeks, 
and the Choctaws — a country unsurpassed in agricul- 
tural resources, then undeveloped; rich in prairies 
waiting for the sod to be turned and in forests of 
timber awaiting the ax and overshadowing deep allu- 
vial bottoms along streams abounding with fish. 

Several scenes through which we passed linger in 
memory, as happenings of youth, which, seen through 
the shadows of intervening years, are pleasing to the 
fancies of mature life. One of these was the crossing 
of the Kaw (or Kansas) River. 

We encamped on the north bank in the evening, 
and made preparation for crossing next morning. Sev- 
eral forked saplings were found and cut in shape to 
run on the ice. Slats were nailed across from one 
branch to the other, and a rope was passed through 
an auger hole at the forward end, and knotted around 
sticks about four feet in length, with intervals of sev- 
eral feet between them. This completed the prepara- 
tion. 

246 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The ice was tried next morning, and found too 
thin to bear up the teams. Several horses, however, 
were led over, a foot breaking through now and then. 
The wagons were unloaded, and their contents, loaded 
on the improvised sleds, were drawn across by the 
men. 

About sevent}'-five feet from the north bank was 
a sand bar upon which there were but a few inches 
of water. Upon sounding, it was found that the 
water between this bar and the bank was shallow 
enough for the mules to draw the wagons across to 
the bar. The first thing to do was to cut a channel 
through the ice wide enough for the wagons. 

While engaged in this work, and when it was nearly 
finished, a little dog belonging to one of the men was 
pushed off the ice into the water. The current was 
strong, and it was evident that without help he would 
be swept under the ice below the channel. Some 
one pushed the end of a rail out, and the owner of 
the dog, anxious to save the animal, which was strug- 
gling doggedly against the current, essayed to reach 
him by crawling along the rail, his comrades holding 
down the other end. Reaching out, he had gotten a 
grip on one of doggie's fore paws, not pausing to con- 
sider the danger, when suddenly the edge of the ice 
cracked off, and down went rail, man, dog, and all 
into the rushing water. It was not deep, and as the 
man came up snorting like a porpoise he had his dog 
securely in his arms. 

The uproarious laughter at this episode had hardly 
subsided when attention was called to another scene 
that excited no little merriment. A man walking across 

247 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

on the ice a few yards up the river had stepped on a 
thin sheet of ice that had formed over a hole where a 
horse's foot had broken through, and which was con- 
cealed by a thin covering of snow, and as we turned 
to look the vision that met our view was a man's 
head and a pair of shoulders, with arms extended on 
the ice. "Come out of that!" "I know you're thar!" 
"I see the top of your head!" wxre cries that greeted 
the man as he hung on the ice, his body and legs 
dangling in the cold water below. A pole laid across 
in front of him enabled him to climb out on the ice. 

When the mules were taken from a wagon, after 
drawing it to the bar, a long rope was attached to the 
pole, and twenty or thirty men would seize the rope 
and rush with it to the other shore, keeping as far from 
the edge of the ice as possible. Close by the bank, 
which here lies back several rods from the water, a 
number of buckets filled with whisky had been placed, 
and the men, while they worked on the ice, "kept their 
spirits up by pouring the spirits down." They made 
of what seemed at first a forbidding enterprise one 
grand frolic. 

I well remember how Lieutenant Ingraham seemed 
to enjoy a ride on the last wagon from the bar out to 
the shore. Mounting into it just as all was ready, 
he shouted the signal to move, and the men did move. 
As the foremost r_eached land, others seized the rope, 
and, rushing with it up the bank, moved the wagon 
with such speed that the water dashed up over the 
front gate, and the jolly lieutenant was baptized from 
head to foot. Never a boy enjoyed sport more heart- 
ily. Ingraham was one of those young men, ap- 

248 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

pointed to the army from civil life, who might have 
been considered *'too young and too inexperienced in 
the details of the service for promotion," to use 
the language of Colonel Sumner ; but when he fell at 
Shiloh, pierced by a Federal bullet after he had sur- 
rendered, there fell one of Nature's noblemen. Here's 
a tear to his memory. 

Having spent the day in transferring wagons, bag- 
gage, and equipments, commissaries, and ordnance 
stores to the south bank, the command went into 
camp among the trees. Rousing fires were built to 
dry the wet clothing, and canteens circulated freely, 
preventing any drying of the inner man. 

Rev. John B — , in describing the marvelous ef- 
fects of a storm that had swept over his plantation, 
said: ''It was a terrible wind, sir, a terrible wind. It 
blowed down big oaks on my place that never had 
been blowed down before!" 

The whisky was in its efifects on some of the men, 
who were little addicted to its use, very like Mr. B — 's 
storni. 

I found the duties of my new position light, the 
health of the command being exceedingly good. Now 
and then some unpleasant symptoms, or slight hurt, 
called for a prescription — about often enough to keep 
me in mind of studying the Materia Medica and learn- 
ing its nomenclature. 

FORT WASHITA. 

This post is situated just on the edge of the tim- 
ber bordering the Washita River, about three miles 
from a ferry on that stream, and twenty miles from 

249 



IN BARRACK AND Ji'IELD. 

its confluence with Red River a few miles above the 
village of Preston, Tex. After a march of nearly a 
nionth's duration, covering a distance of about five 
hundred miles, the squadron arrived here, in good 
health. I found the hospital to be a substantial one- 
story brick house of seven rooms, in the form of three 
sides of a parallelogram — a long, low building, with 
wings extending back from each end. The front was 
to the east. At the extremity of the southern wing, 
facing west, was the steward's room ; next to it, the 
dispensary ; corresponding to these, in the opposite 
wing, were the kitchen and dining room. At the back 
of the main building a veranda connected the two 
wings. Another veranda extended along the front, 
across the northern side, and around back of the north 
wing, making a way from the office to the kitchen 
without passing through other rooms. The body of 
the house contained three rooms — the office, ward- 
room, and storeroom. 

About a hundred feet to the south stood the sur- 
geon's quarters, a grove of oaks intervening. The 
grounds in front were also studded with trees for 
some two hundred feet, beyond which was the open 
prairie. On the north of this grove was the hospital 
garden. 

One of my first duties after taking up my quarters 
in this hospital was to make an inventory of the hos- 
pital stores. Among other things of value, I found 
dozens of old rye, of pale brandy, Jamaica rum, and 
sherry wine, that had been lying here growing old 
and mellow, in the care of the faithful old ordnance 
sergeant, perhaps since Braxton Bragg, whose name 

250 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was yet on the doorplate of the commanding officer's 
quarters, had commanded the post. The country 
needs more just such men as this old sergeant in 
positions of trust. In the summer of this very year, 
during a three months' campaign on the plains, these 
same stores were left in charge of a hospital attend- 
ant in whom Dr. Page had implicit confidence and 
who I believed to be honest. On the return of the 
squadron I found that nearly all the bottles had been 
broached, most of them had been watered, and others 
had lost an ounce or two of their beady fullness. I 
learned that the lieutenant left in command of the 
post had been drunk nearly all summer. Like *'01d 
Uncle Tim," he 

"Had a nose like a red woolen sock, 
And pimples on his face not a few," 

and our honest attendant's face was blooming ''like a 
red, red rose." 

I had not been long installed in the hospital when, 
in addition to other duties, I was charged with that of 
keeping the post office, the postmaster having no suit- 
able room for it. This duty, bringing me in contact 
with the people of the neighborhood, as well as with 
the soldiers and the employees of the quartermaster's 
department, I found to be rather agreeable than irk- 
some, and the little profits of the office enabled me to 
provide myself with literature without reducing my 
income. Besides, it finally led to the organization of 
a small literary club, from which I derived no little 
pleasure, and of which I shall give some account 
farther on. 

351 



IN BARRACK AND, FIELD, 

How I appreciated the life of light duty and abun- 
dant leisure which I now enjoyed will appear in the 
following extracts from letters to my mother and sis- 
ter: 

Fort Washita, February 9. 1859. 

I am \yq\1 and living a quiet enough sort of life, 
with little to do except studying ; and that I find doesn't 
agree with my digestive functions, so- I don't do a 
great deal of it. However, I employ myself one way 
and another, so that the time doesn't hang heavily on 
my hands. 

Since I left you I have not been so well contented as 
now. Indeed, as far as my well-being is concerned, 
aside from other considerations, I believe there are 
better prospects open for me here than I shall find 
again. The question is, if a kind Providence has 
opened before me a clear prospect in a path of life 
at once honorable and adapted to my humble abilities, 
is it not my duty to follow it? I became engaged in 
this branch of the service by no act of my own. I 
had not even thought of it when I was directed to re- 
port to the surgeon. I am satisfied that for whatever 
advantage I now enjoy I am indebted to Captain 
Carr. Dr. Page, the post surgeon, has treated me 
most kindly. He seems to wish me to study medicine, 
and I would not be disinclined to do so but for the 
shortness of my remaining period of service. . . . 

Fort Washita, February 18, 1859. 

Your favor of December 9, after a circumlandibus 
route via Forts Leavenworth and Riley, came to hand 
at last, by last mail. . . . 

I am quite well, and more contented than I have 
ever before been in the service — occupy a room by 
myself, and acting hospital steward, keeping post of- 
fice, etc. Not much to do, but manage to pass the 

252 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

time without ennui. Weather very warm ; peach trees 
blooming. 

February 20. Nothing new, only had the pleasure of 
receiving by to-day's mail Harper s Magazine for De- 
cember, January, and February. . . . 

I am sorry to hear that your health is no better. 
Do not forget that cheerfulness conduces to health. 
Get books by the best of authors, and fill the little 
spaces of leisure with reading. To be all the time 
employed has an astonishing effect on one's spirits 
and health. 

Fort Washita is a quiet place. Everything around 
me here wears an air of repose truly soothing and 
delightful to the contemplative mind. 

There are a few soldiers in our squadron w^ho have 
a taste for literature, which has prompted them to 
prepare and circulate at given periods a sort of 
manuscript newspaper for our mutual satisfaction. 
It is proposed to issue it twice a month, the articles 
to be under assumed names, and all parties being 
pledged to inviolable (?) secrecy. 

I must close the mail. My love to Mr. Hardin. 

Your affectionate brother. 



THE WASHITA FLY LEAF. 

Such was the name given by its author to the 
manuscript newspaper mentioned in the foregoing ex- 
tract. The title was given it in honor of the Fly 
Leaf, a paper published by the senior class of Col- 
lege Temple, in the city of Newnan, Ga., during a 
period of several years, beginning, I think, in 1855 — 
a paper wdiose columns exhibited the excellent re- 
sults of the high training which the young ladies in 
that institution enjoyed. 

253 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The organization of our Fly Leaf Club came about 
in this way: Among tlv: r.z^n who used to come often 
to the hospital was one Frederick William Reeder, at 
that time a clerk in the office of the orderly sergeant 
of Company C. He had some trouble in one of his 
eyes, and for some time came daily to have it treated. 
He gradually fell into the habit of lingering about the 
reception room, after taking his prescription, until I 
had leisure for a chat with him. From this he sfot 
to calling at my room of evenings. Our intimacy 
grew rapidly, and I soon learned the salient features 
of his past life. He was a Prussian, and his father, 
having intended him for the profession of medicine, 
had provided for his education accordingly. 

When the time arrived for entering on his pro- 
fessional studies, he found himself so much averse to 
the line of life chosen for him that he could not bring 
himself to comply with his father's wishes. His fa- 
ther, offended by his obstinacy, bound him to service 
with a nierchant. He found this situation very irk- 
some and galling to his spirit, and, perhaps feeling a 
degree of resentment at what he thought was injus- 
tice in his father's treatment of him, determined to 
escape from it. Going secretly on board a vessel 
about to sail for New York, he worked his passage 
to that port, where he soon procured employment in 
the German department of a large retail store. 

I know not hovv- long he had been in this position, 
where it seems he had an excellent prospect of ad- 
vancing himself, when one day he got a fright that 
upset both his plans and his judgment. It was only 
the sight of his uncle on the street. Reeder at once 

254 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

jumped to the conclusion that this uncle had crossed 
the ocean to search for him, and that if he fell into 
his hands he would be carried back and again bound 
to a service that would, after his taste of freedom, he 
more galling than ever. I know not what circum- 
stance suggested enlistment in the army as a means 
of avoiding such a fate. Suffice it that he did enlist, 
thus exchanging the fears born of a morbid imagina- 
tion for the livery of Uncle Sam. 

He was of a temperament that in no small degree 
unfitted him for military service. Easily led by kind- 
ness, he was impatient of dictation. This led to em- 
barrassing friction between himself and noncommis- 
sioned officers under whom he served. To work off 
the fire which on such occasions his sensitive nerves 
carried to his brain, he would engage in any dis- 
sipation or revelry that circumstances suggested. For 
instance, if he had money, he would go into any game, 
no matter what the odds again-st him, and play as lon?;- 
as he had a stake, and then seek refuge from remorse 
as well as from unhappy memories in artificial stim- 
ulation — not, however, to the extent of absolute drunk- 
enness. 

xA-s I became interested in him his vagaries an- 
noyed me, and I began to treat him coldly when he 
would linger about the office, taking up a book or 
paper, or employing myself in some way, and answer- 
ing his remarks in monosyllables until he would go 
away. This had gone on several days when one 
evening he came into my room and, being received 
with formal courtesy, took a seat near me. I waited 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

for him to speak, which he did presently, saying: 
"Johnny, what is the matter with you?" 

"Nothing that I know of," I repHed ; "why?" 

To my surprise he burst into tears. "Why," said 
he, "do you treat me so coldly? What has changed 
you ?" 

The man whose sensibilities are such that he feels 
so deeply a wound like that and does not resent it 
angrily may be redeemed from the thraldom of 
habit and, under favorable environment, become a 
happy and a useful man. Only he whose sensibilities 
are so dead as to be untouched by the reproof of 
friends is lost to virtuous aspirations. 

I told Reeder frankly than in view of certain hab- 
its of his, which I need not particularize, it was ap- 
parent that our paths diverged so widely that, with- 
out a change, any intimacy between us on the terms 
of mutual respect, upon which alone friendship can 
exist, was impossible. On any other terms it was not 
desirable. I had chosen my path, and had no in- 
clination for any other. He had chosen his. It was 
for him to determine whether he would value his 
friends more highly than the habits into which he 
had fallen ; for if he did not abandon the one, the other 
would surely abandon him. 

Of course I give only the purport of our talk. It 
en4ed with assurances on his part of a resolution to 
mend his ways, and of sympathy and such help as lay 
within my power on mine. 

The observations of subsequent years have shown 
me that the life of many a promising youth is wrecked 
for want of employment congenial to his tastes and 

256 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

adapted to his capacity. I knew nothing at this time 
of the theory of "work cure," and it was probably be- 
cause I knew of no other way in which I could help 
Reeder that I fell upon the plan of finding something 
for him to do that would interest him and serve the 
twofold purpose of filling, in part, the spaces of his 
leisure, and of taking him away from the temptations 
that beguiled him. Possibly the idea was suggested 
by dim recollections of certain sage maxims by which 
in the receptive time of childhood I had been some- 
times warned of the evil of idleness ; such as, "An 
idle brain is the devil's workshop," and 

"Satan finds some mischief still 
For idle hands to do." 

I had long desired to study French, a language in 
which Reeder was adept, being occasionally required 
by his captain to translate French letters into Eng- 
lish, and the replies into French. I took up the study 
under his tuition. This seemed to give him immense 
satisfaction. 

One evening, after my lesson, we fell into a talk 
about literature, in the course of which I spoke of 
a weekly paper that had been issued in manuscript at 
Hiwassee College. The avidity with which Reeder 
caught up the idea was amusing. His eyes sparkled 
with enthusiasm as he brought his hand down in 
a heavy slap upon his knee, exclaiming: "By George, 
let's do that here !" 

In fifteen minutes he was ofif to submit the scheme 
to two comrades, and on the same evening, in the 
steward's room at the hospital, our club was organ- 
• 17 257 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ized, and our scheme discussed, with as much earnest- 
ness as if it had been proposed to establish a rival 
of the Atlantic Monthly or Harper s Magazine. 

There were four of us, and to each was assigned 
a special department. L. A. Reese, the eldest 
and most experienced of the quartet, had been an 
editor of a country newspaper ; from that he had es- 
sayed the publication of a magazine. His resources 
not corresponding to his ambition, this enterprise had 
failed, and, preferring the excitement of life in the 
frontier service to unprofitable broodings over the 
hapless result of his literary venture, he had joined 
the cavalry. 

To him was assigned the classification of tlie mat- 
ter and determining the positions, in the paper, of the 
several articles making up its contents, and notice and 
review of books and periodicals — a work which he 
performed with the care and gravity of one filling the 
editorial chair of a standard magazine. 

Irwin, who was the youngest of the group, was a 
bright, jolly young Irishman, of body low and rotund, 
red-headed and ruddy-featured, even-tempered and 
big-hearted. Ambitious to improve himself, he was 
ready to work at anything that held any promise of 
elevating the standards of life among his comrades. 
To him were assigned the local news and ^'Answers to 
Correspondents" columns. He volunteered to do 
Reese's part of the copying, as Reeder did mine, in 
part. Reeder and I seemed to have been left free to 
write as the fancy or the whim of the hour suggested. 
I have before me a copy of the second issue. It was 
on bluish-tinted paper — two sheets 18x21 inches. 

258 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

It is old and tattered and torn, one precious piece 
torn from a corner and gone — precious to me because 
of its dear associations. Part of it is in the hand- 
writing of Reeder and part in that of Irwin. Each 
page is divided into two columns by a double line in 
red ink. Similar lines are drawn across the top of 
each page, and in the margin above, inclosed in fig- 
ures drawn in lines of red ink, or red and black, are 
written quotations relating to the subject-matter of 
the page or column above which they are placed. The 
captions and signatures are underscored with red, and 
the several articles are separated by double lines in 
the same color. 

Reese, being of a romantic turn of mind, adopted 
the pronomen of "Guy Oakleaf ;" Irwin became "Mu- 
tus," as indicating his reticence ; Reeder took the name 
of "Ranger," which he fancied was characteristic of 
his past life ; for a like reason, perhaps, "Erro" be- 
came the nom de plume of the fourth member in the 
quartet. 

The copy before me is dated Fort Washita, C. N., 
March 15, 1859, and has for its motto the words: 
"Devoted to Moral and Mental Development." 

The following editorial fills the first page: 

Our Objects, Expectations, and Wishes. 

Having thought, when the idea of the Washita 
Fly Leaf first occurred to us, that such an enterprise 
would meet with just encouragement among those 
men in the army who, while cheerfully performing 
every military duty, feel yet that the culture of the 
mind, the development of the intellect — in a word, 
the higher aims of life — should not be entirely lost 

259 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

sight of, we entered into it earnestly and in good 
faith; not, however, we admit, without some misgiv- 
ings about the propriety of the undertaking, and not 
a few doubts concerning the reception which so novel 
an affair would meet with among the mass of readers. 

That our enterprise has, on its first appearance, 
awakened at least a friendly interest, we are assured ; 
but this may be only the result of the dress and air 
of novelty with which it presents itself; and which, 
as it is thrown about in future stages, and becomes a 
familiarity, must be torn off, leaving it to stand upon 
the merit of its intrinsic value, or, wanting such sup- 
port, to fall and be forgotten. 

Conscious of this, we might well shrink from an 
undertaking the pleasures of which, at the best, may 
fall far short of being proportionate to its toil ; but hav- 
ing ''set our hands to the plow," as our motto is 
''Onward," we are determined not to be easily dis- 
couraged. 

Just as by a law of nature two atoms of matter can- 
not occupy the same space at the same time, so, when 
the mind is filled with one reflection, all others are 
excluded. If, then, the mental faculties be preoccu- 
pied in the contemplation of such subjects as afford 
the highest degree of satisfaction, it follows that 
there can be no room for those broodings over dead 
hopes "and past happier days" which tend so much 
to oppress the soul with ennui and sink the heart in 
bleak and barren discontentment. 

Assuming thus much as an abstract truth, we shall 
continue our paper, presenting it from time to time to 
a small circle of readers, not expecting them to receive 
it as a substitute for an)^ amusement in which they 
may have found something of the spice of pleasure, 
but modestly hoping that it may meet with their appro- 
bation as some slight addition to their means of enter- 
tainment during the intervals of duty. And we wish 
it understood that our columns are open to those who 

260 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

have time and inclination to use the pen on any sub- 
ject, be it grave or gay, poetry or prose, Hterary or 
poHtical ; provided always that it be impersonal. 

If our own articles should appear cramped or want- 
ing in that ease of style and graceful flow of lan- 
guage which characterize the productions of the pro- 
fessional writer, it will be remembered that we are 
novices in the literary field, and that our researches 
are necessarily restricted to a narrow circle. 

But as from time to time our errors in style, 
philology, or diction shall be pointed out by friendly 
critics, we hope to improve and, as we gather con- 
fidence, to bring a new zeal to the work, seasoning 
our productions with a warmer zest and a refinement 
of polish more commensurate with the literary attain- 
ments of our readers. Erro. 

Then follows, on the second page, an article by 
Guy Oakleaf, on "Serenades and Serenaders." 

On the third page we have the "Drunkard's Doom," 
an essay by Ranger, followed by the "Cavalryman's 
Song," under the imposing title of "Camp Fire Song 
of the Cavaliers." 

Next, beginning on the second column, fourth page, 
is an "Epistle to N. J. C," by Erro; then on the 
fifth page a poem entitled "Stray Thoughts," by 
Ranger, after which, on the same page, Guy Oakleaf 
begins "Review of Current Literature," which covers 
three columns, ending on the seventh page. Then 
comes a poem "To Lily," by Erro, after which Mutus 
indites a paragraph to "Correspondents." "Lily's 
Reply" follows ; then on the eighth page something 
over a column is devoted to answers to correspond- 
ents, over the signature of "Mutus" (Fighting Edi- 
tor). A notice of "Divine service every Sabbath 

261 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

morning at half past ten o'clock in the chapel, Rev. 
I. Burke, pastor," concludes the bill of fare given our 
readers in this issue. 

We made, and distributed through the post office, 
six copies, one for each company, and one each for 
the commanding officer, the officer's mess, the chap- 
lain, and Mr. Vance, the sutler. 

For some time much of the writing and all of the 
copying was done in the hospital steward's room, but 
after one or two numbers had been sent out Captain 
Wood sent for Reese, having suspected him to be one 
of the projectors of the enterprise, and questioned 
him about it. Reese avoided a direct answer in a 
way that confirmed the Captain's suspicions, where- 
upon the wily old soldier, bringing- to bear on the 
case his fine knowledge of human nature — especially 
that part of it which pertained to Reese — proceeded 
to praise the several articles in a copy of our paper 
which he held in his hand until, when he came to 
commend one of Reese's own articles in flattering 
terms, Reese's vanity could endure no more, and he 
disclosed the whole secret of the work. 

The Captain made no secret of his delight that an 
enterprise so novel and commendable had originated 
in his command. He gave Reese authority for the 
club to take possession of a vacant house, with fire- 
place, closets, and table suited to our work, and al- 
lowed us to keep lights after taps. This highly ap- 
preciated favor restored to the steward the privacy of 
his room, and gave our club members a place where 
they felt somewhat more freedom in going and com- 
ing as they pleased. 

262 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

In addition to other advantages, the good chaplain, 
Mr. Burke, now tendered us the use of his Hbrary, 
and further encouraged us by commending our enter- 
prise and our articles in flattering terms. Upon the 
whole, we were as favorably situated as was then pos- 
sible for enlisted men on the frontier. The tedium 
of the service was gone, and the weeks slipped away 
light-footed as the hours when young life is all rose- 
hued. We pursued our studies with no less enthu- 
siasm, and with more confidence, and dreamed of 
winning places on the roll of fame with names like 
Goldsmith, Burns, and Addison. 

But it must not be understood that we devoted our 
leisure so severely to study as to neglect the pleasures 
found in amusements of the lighter sort. Not infre- 
quently side-splitting stories, jests, and repartee con- 
sumed the evening hour. Once, I remember, an in- 
tended joke seemed on the point of ending in a trag- 
edy, of which the joker was in imminent danger of 
becoming the victim. 

A brief description of our clubhouse is necessary 
to an understanding of the occurrence. It was a two- 
roomed, hewed log cabin, having a low piazza along 
the front. There was a closet on each side of the 
stack chimney separating the two rooms, both closets 
opening into the right-hand room, which was our 
sanctum. At the back of each closet was an aper- 
ture about eighteen inches square, opening into the 
opposite room. 

One evening about ten o'clock, disinclined to sleep 
and feeling the want of companionship, I left my 
room at the hospital and strolled down toward the 

263 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

clubroom, hoping to find some of the boys there. Ap- 
proaching the place, I saw the room was Hghted, and 
when a Httle nearer recognized the voices of Reese 
and Reeder within. It struck me that here was a 
chance for fmi. My plan, which was formed at once, 
and without any thought of possible miscarriage, was 
to enter one of the closets through the vacant room, 
and when inside to knock upon the wall. The result I 
calculated on was that my friends would suppose 
some one knocking at the door for admission, and 
would get up and open it. Finding no one, they 
would be perplexed. After a while I would repeat 
the knocking, which would lead to another opening 
of the • door and more decided perplexity. Then I 
would disclose myself and have my laugh. 

I removed my shoes and, entering the vacant room, 
went stealthily to the opening at the back of the 
closet, on a shelf of which we usually placed our 
hats. Having passed my shoes through the aper- 
ture to a shelf within the closet, I proceeded to follow 
them. The base or sill of the little window being 
some four and a half feet from the floor, I was under 
the necessity of going head foremost. Putting my 
arms and head through, I sprang up and was resting 
with my chest on the sill, feeling about for something 
substantial to lay my hand on, when I heard the mov- 
ing of a chair, as of some one rising suddenly and 
pushing it back, and at the same time the voice of 
Reeder saying: 'T'll go and get it." 

The closet was narrow ; my face was almost against 
the door, and my body almost filled the hole in the 
wall. If he should open the door and find confront- 

264 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ing him the head and shoulders of a man projecting 
from the solid wall, and in the dim light that would 
penetrate the dark closet, what must be his terror? 
The timorous in our nature predominates in hours of 
darkness. All this and more flashed through my 
mind as I made a vain effort to push myself back. 
One step, and his hand was on the door latch. I had 
only time to put on an apologetic grin, thus making 
the apparition more hideous, ere the door opened, and 
Reeder, leaning forward to reach his hat, thrust his 
face almost against mine. 

Did he faint? Never cat sprang upon its prey with 
more agility, never antelope sprang more quickly to 
avoid the fangs of the deadly snake, than Reeder 
sprang back from that closet. He slammed the door 
with such force that the rebound brought it wide 
open and revealed him crouching at the opposite end 
of the room, wild-eyed, evidently looking about for 
some offensive weapon. Reese, exclaiming, ''What 
in the world is it?" leaned over so as to see into the 
closet, and, recognizing me, added hastily, "Why, it's 
only Beall !" and began to laugh uproariously. 

Reeder, pale and much agitated, as soon as he real- 
ized the nature of the case, tried hard to join in the 
laugh, but with rather indifferent success. 

I believe that was the last of my practical jokes 
"indurin' o' the army." 

265 



IN BARRACK AND^FIELD. 

A CHICKASAW'S JEALOUSY. 

While at Fort Washita the writer had many oppor- 
tunities to observe and study the character of the na- 
tives. 

As a general rule, the Indians resent any special 
attention to the young females of their race by the 
white man. Only by long residence among them, and 
a line of conduct on the part of the white man that 
wins their confidence, is this race prejudice overcome. 
It is well understood among them that a large ma- 
jority of soldiers — at least ninety-nine out of a hun- 
dred — who seek the society of their girls do so mere- 
ly to spend agreeably the passing hour, and that their 
special attention cannot be relied on as indicating any 
desire for marital relations. It follows that the boys 
in uniform are regarded by the young Chickasaw gal- 
lants with a suspicion which they take no pains to 
conceal, and now and then their jealousy crops out in 
violence, just as does that of people with higher 
claims to civilization. Yet, on several occasions dur- 
ing the period of my service there Uncle Sam's boys 
prevailed on a number of dusky damsels to grace with 
their presence public balls given at the fort. Not all 
dusky, either, for I remember one of distinctly Cir- 
cassian features, in the meshes of whose charms one 
of our boys was caught and so entangled that it re- 
quired the interposition of his captain, assisted by a 
furiously jealous cousin of the fair Indian maiden, to 
release him. 

Kenney was a spirited Kentucky lad, in whom his 
captain took a special interest, being a Kentuckian 

266 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

himself, and having been, as I was informed, appoint- 
ed guardian of the lad's person and property, under 
the laws of that State. Whether or not the captain's 
influence and authority over his ward would have 
been sufficient to wean the young man from his infat- 
uation for the fair Rowena is extremely doubtful. 

The young lady, with -her sister, Wenona, for a 
time quite frequently visited the fort. Here was her 
post office and the sutler's store, where the people of 
the vicinity came to do their shopping. On the occa- 
sions of these visits opportunities for interviews be- 
tween the lovers were not wanting. There came a 
time, however, when the sisters were seen no more 
within the military reservation. Possibly the good 
captain had given their family an effective hint. It 
was rumored that a cousin of the fair Rowena, who 
had long worshiped at her shrine, had sworn that 
he would kill Kenney if he did not cease his atten- 
tions at once and forever. Possibly a prudent de- 
sire on the part of Rowena to avert impending dan- 
ger from her white lover was the secret of her seclu- 
sion. However the fact may have been, Kenney w^as 
not disposed to abandon the pursuit of so fair an 
object. He was not to be deterred by trifles. 

Rowena went one evening to spend the night with 
a friend about three miles from the fort. Kenney met 
her there. Possibly the meeting was by preconcerted 
arrangement. We can only surmise as to that, as well 
as to how the jealous cousin got information that en- 
abled him to waylay the ardent lover as he rode back 
in the darkness. 

It was about midnight. Kenney was riding lei- 
267 



IN BARRACK ANJ) FIELD. 

surely through a swamp bordering a small stream, 
when, as he came opposite a large tree growing hard 
by the road, two men sprang from behind it. One 
caught at his bridle. The startled horse threw up 
his head so quickly that the man failed to catch the 
rein. Kenney's keen glance detected the gleam of a 
long knife in the right hand of the other man, in the 
act of striking him. Throwing out his right hand, he 
checked the force of the blow and turned the deadly 
blade aside. The frightened horse, at one bound, 
carried him beyond the reach of his assailant, and 
Kenney, feeling that he had no further business in 
that locality, gave the noble animal free rein until 
within hail of the garrison sentinels. 

The young man was very pale and very serious as 
he related to the surgeon the particulars of his ad- 
venture, the while preparations were made for re- 
moving a small piece of the bone of the right fore- 
finger, w^hich had been cut off smoothly about an 
eighth of an inch from the first joint. 

It was whispered about that the opinion was enter- 
tained by some of his comrades that Kenney was 
not assaulted at all, but had chopped off his own 
finger, with the expectation of getting a discharge 
on account of it. It was his trigger finger, said these 
gossips, and no knife, they argued, would cut straight 
through a finger unless it were laid against some solid 
object. But such suggestions are easily accounted 
for by the jealousy of these fellows on account of 
Kenney's better standing in the captain's favor. He 
was an intelligent fellow : and if he had wanted to cut 
off his own finger, and had done so, he would not 

268 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

have concocted a story that subjected him to charges 
for sHpping his horse out and absenting himself from 
the garrison at night without leave; and he knew 
very well that the loss of the first joint of the finger 
would be no ground for a discharge. 

One thing was plain to all : Kenney's ardor was 
materially cooled. His assailants had their faces 
daubed with mud, and, in the shadows of the swamp, 
he could hardly have identified them if there had been 
no manner of disguise; yet he never entertained a 
doubt that they were of the family of his inamo- 
rata. 

It must be allowed that even an enthusiastic lover 
might shrink from pursuing beauty through forests 
where mud-painted kinsmen lurk behind trees in wait- 
ing to assail him with the deadly knife. I do not 
know whether our young comrade and Rowena ever 
met again. If so, I am quite sure it was not as 
lovers. 

''The Cut Direct." 

Another event occurred about this time, illustrating 
the workings of the green-eyed monster in the In- 
dian mind. 

Among the soldiers of the garrison was Merchand, 
a Kentuckian, as fall of vital energy as one would ex- 
pect in a native of a State noted for the manliness and 
vigor of her people. He was, moreover, a lover of fun 
and frolic, the ga}^est of the gay, and without a spark 
of vindictiveness in his nature. 

He was a favorite with his captain and other offi- 
269 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

cers, as well as with the men, and the restraints of 
military life sat lightly upon him. If the amuse- 
ments that served in a measure to relieve the tedium 
of garrison life palled upon him, he sought and found 
variety of amusement and adventure in the neighbor- 
ing country, usually in company with some congenial 
comrade. 

On one occasion he attended a little party several 
miles from the post, where dwelt one of the dark- 
eyed belles of the Chickasaws. This damsel had a 
lover of her own race who was displeased at the 
attentions shown her by the young cavalryman, and at 
this party his jealousy reached a climax that came 
unpleasantly near being fatal in its results. 

In the midst of the festivities, the Indian lover 
brought out a canteen of whisky and passed it around 
from one to another where they sat. Merchand, 
unsuspicious of treachery, when the canteen was 
offered to him, took it to his lips and threw his head 
back to drink. The observant eye of the Indian girl 
seeing that her dusky lover, as he released the can- 
teen from his left, carried his right hand quickly 
to the hilt of a knife that hung in his belt, she 
uttered a warning cry. Like lightning the pol- 
ished blade flashed in the air, the blow was struck, 
and the lithe fellow leaped out at the door. Mer- 
chand, startled by the scream of the young woman, 
and perhaps catching the deadly gleam in the eye of 
his assailant, and divining therefrom his murderous 
intent, ducked his head in time to save his throat, but 
too late to avoid the thrust entirely. The knife pen- 
etrated his left cheek, knocked out two teeth, and cut 

270 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

a gash in his tongue. Throwing down the canteen, 
he rushed out after the would-be murderer. Find- 
ing that he was already on his horse flying from the 
scene, he hastily mounted his own and followed, a 
comrade and others crying after him to come back. 
The wily Chickasaw had so much the start that pur- 
suit was vain, and vain the several shots sent after 
him while both horses were at the top of their speed. 

Two or three hundred yards from the house Mer- 
chand fell from his horse, faint with the loss of blood, 
just as a comrade, who had ridden madly after him, 
came up. He was brought to the hospital and his 
wounds were treated by Surgeon Page, with such 
skill that when discharged, after a week or two, the 
scar on his cheek was not an ugly one, but a souvenir 
of love to be carried through life's campaign. 



A THRILLING ADVENTURE. 

While the stream of life was running smoothly 
with us at Fort Washita our neighbors at Fort Ar- 
buckle, sixty miles farther west, had some experiences 
of quite a different sort. The troops ,on the Texas 
frontier, and within the borders of the Choctaw and 
Chickasaw Nations, were constantly on the lookout 
for the hostile Comanches, whom no adverses could 
bring to terms of peace. They were plunderers by 
instinct — the Arabs of the southwestern plains, rov- 
ing from the borders of New Mexico to the Chick- 
asaw settlements, and from Texas to beyond the 

271 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

• 

Arkansas, into the country of the Cheyennes, in Kan- 
sas. They warred not only with the whites but with 
such tribes of their own race as they could surprise 
unprepared for defense or escape. 

Troops from Arbuckle engaged them twice about 
this time, within twenty miles of that post. Captain 
Carr's company, I (my old comrades), was dispatched 
on the 29th of February to reenforce the garrison at 
Arbuckle. 

On the 28th of that month Lieutenant Stanley, 
Company D, met and defeated a party of Comanches, 
killing seven, with a loss of one man wounded. About 
the same time a detachment of cavalry on a scout 
came upon a body of these wily horsemen of the plains, 
with whom they had a sharp skirmish, killing four, 
and losing one killed and one wounded. 

In this fight a cavalryman had a thrilling adventure. 
While in pursuit of the Comanches, he had placed 
himself alongside of an Indian whom he mistook for 
a Wichita belonging to his own party. Being a little 
in advance of the main party, they charged on to- 
gether for nearly two miles. Meanwhile a real 
Wichita, one of our allies, was urging his horse at 
utmost speed to overtake them. His more practiced 
eye had at once perceived that it was a Comanche in 
company with the "white soldier" in front, and that he 
only waited to reach a body of timber not far ahead 
to give the death shot and take the scalp of his un- 
suspecting foe. On they dashed, these two deadly 
enemies side by side, over the plains, just in the rear 
of the retreating friends of the one, the flying foes of 
the other. 

272 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Suddenly the soldier was startled by a wild shout 
of triumph behind him; and turning his head, he saw 
the horse and rider at his side hurled impetuously to 
the earth, and in an instant the Wichita, leaping from 
his saddle, thrust his knife into the heart of the pros- 
trate Comanche. 

The brave ally, unable or not wishing to check 
the superior speed of his horse, had allowed him to 
come in collision with that of his enemy, who was 
thrown to the earth as if horse and rider had been 
struck down by lightning. 



UP THE WASHITA. 

On the 20th day of June, 1859, the squadron took 
up the line of march on an expedition to the Ante- 
lope Hills, and on the 28th joined Capt. D. B. Sack- 
ett's squadron from Fort Smith at old Camp Ar- 
buckle. Our route to this point was via Chickasaw 
Academy, Tishomingo City, and Fort Arbuckle, 
through a country alternating with hill and valley, 
woodland and open plain, mountain stream and dry 
ravine. 

On June 30 I saw wild turkeys and deer, and I 
was tempted to ride after one of the latter. I failed 
to get a shot, but succeeded in getting an official scold 
for running my government horse. 

As we ascended the western slope the timber indi- 
cated a less productive soil. On July i we passed 
a forest of black-jack, such as may be found on the 
18 27Z 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

most sterile ridges of Georgia and Alabama. On the 
same day we caught a glimpse of the Canadian, away 
to the north. At the edge of the woods, near the 
decaying trunk of a fallen tree, I found to-day the 
skeleton of a papoose. There was no indication of a 
grave, or of any effort having been made to protect 
the remains from the ghoulish wolves. 

On the loth of July the mails brought my appoint- 
ment as hospital steward. The following extract re- 
lating to this appointment, from a letter written at 
Fort Washita in March of this year, will give some 
idea of 

The Red Tape Process in Uncle Sam's War 
Office. 

The Post Surgeon states to the Adjutant General 
of the army that there is no steward at this Post, and 
recommends me as "eminently qualified" (?) for the 
appointment. My company commander writes his 
assent on the same sheet. It is now handed to the 
Post Commandant, who "respectfully" forwards it, 
through the Assistant Adjutant General, Department 
of the West, who, in his turn, and "by order of De- 
partment Commander," indorses it "Respectfully for- 
warded to headquarters of the army," where the Ad- 
jutant General "respectfully" refers it "to the Surgeon 
General" for his decision. The Surgeon General "re- 
spectfully returns" it and recommends that "the man" 
be put on trial for six months, by which time it will 
be known whether the Post is to be permanently occu- 
pied or not, and whether "the man is really qualified 
for the appointment he seeks." Finally the Adjutant 
General of the army indorses it again: "Respectfully 
returned. The man will be put on trial as suggested 
by the Surgeon General." 

274 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Well, "the man" has served the prescribed period 
of probation and has received his official warrant over 
the signature of the old hero of Lundy's Lane. Nor 
did ''the man" seek the appointment, in the sense of 
asking for it. He was detailed for the duty without 
his knowledge, and all that ever passed between him 
and any one on the subject of the appointment was a 
question by Assistant Surgeon Page and "the man's" 
answer : 

Dr. P. : "Would you like to be transferred to the 
medical department?" 

"The Man :" "I would like it very much." 

And there the matter ended, except so far as an 
honest endeavor to merit the appointment by a faith- 
ful discharge of duty may be regarded in the light of 
seeking it. The true soldier does not solicit promo- 
tion. If he cannot win it, he will not beg it as a 
boon. 

I have already, in another place, expressed my 
grateful sense of obligation to Capt. Eugene A. Carr 
and Assistant Surgeon Charles Page on account of 
their generous and practical interest. 

On the second of August the command crossed the 
line into Texas and encamped on the point of a ridge 
overlooking the valley of the south fork of the Cana- 
dian. The view from this ridge is diversified by shad- 
owy groves and grassy plains, broken here and there 
by barren sand hills, with mountains in the distance. 
We lingered in this vicinity for some time, moving 
from place to place to find grass for the horses, living 
a quiet sort of life, not devoid of interest, yet without 
excitement, except such as an occasional hunting party 
enjoyed. One of these parties killed a small black 
bear, and I found a piece of steak from one of its 
hams quite palatable. We found antelopes in great 

275 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

numbers; but, as is well known, they are exceedingly 
shy, and, except by accident, only the most skilled 
were successful in hunting them. 

One day when we were on the move, and the long 
train of wagons was strung out along the side of a 
gentle slope for half a mile or more, three or four of 
these active little animals came bounding over the 
ridge. Their direction was toward the center of the 
moving train. When within two hundred yards of 
it, all but one turned to the right and ran off tow^ard 
the rear. This one, turning to the left, came down the 
line of wagons toward the front, running the gantlet of 
half a dozen rifles at a distance of perhaps a hundred 
and fifty yards. I procured a rifle and placed myself in 
position for a shot, scarcely hoping that it would es- 
cape the several rifles which it must pass before reach- 
ing a point where I could safely fire. It came on, 
however, and, dropping on one knee, I took deliberate 
aim and fired. The beautiful creature went by me 
like the wind, neither quickening nor slackening its 
speed, nor swerving from its course, until it gained 
a point where there was a long gap in the line of wag- 
ons. Here it turned sharply to the right, crossed 
the line, seeming to hardly touch the ground in its 
easy, graceful leaps, and fled on without apparent 
loss of speed until it disappeared over a ridge far to 
the east. 

While in this region, the stage on the overland 
route between Fort Smith, Ark., and Albuquerque, 
N. Mex., passed us, leaving mails from the States 
—one of those events that afford a pleasing inter- 
ruption in the channel of thought of every soldier 

276 



IN BARRACK ANt) FIELD. 

who is not entirely cut loose from home ties. Let- 
ters received on this occasion made a charming epi- 
sode in the soldier life of the members of the Washita 
Fly Leaf Club, whose literary labors had been sus- 
pended with the commencement of preparation for the 
summer campaign. Before leaving quarters, the club 
had made a special issue of their paper complimentary 
to the editors of the College Temple Fly Leaf of 
Newnan, Ga. The several members of the club were 
much gratified upon the receipt, by the overland mail, 
of a letter from the secretary of the senior class of 
College Temple, acknowledging in flattering terms the 
receipt of their little paper. 



RETURN TO WASHITA. 

I HAVE had^ in writing the foregoing very meager 
and unsatisfactory account of this summer's tramp, 
the aid of a few brief memoranda made at the time. 
As the summer advanced, my duties required more 
and more of my time, until the number of patients 
under the surgeon's care was reduced by the separa- 
tion of our command from that of Captain Sackett. 
The death by typhoid fever of a comrade whom I 
had nursed several weeks gave me further relaxation 
from duty, as well as from a burden of anxiety that 
had rested upon me heavily. This was the only sol- 
dier who died under the care of Dr. Page during the 
eighteen months that I had the honor of serving under 
him. Nor did he lose a single case among the quar- 

277 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

termaster's men. This may be regarded as somewhat 
remarkable in view of the fact that the garrison at 
Fort Washita numbered about three hundred men, 
women, and children, and while with Captain Sackett 
during this summer the total was about eight hundred. 
From about the time of beginning the return march 
I left oft taking notes altogether. 

Stafford, the man with typhoid fever, required al- 
most constant attention. We had to move him from 
camp to camp in the ambulance. Our medical stores 
did not include the remedies adapted to the case, and 
he grew worse daily. I found it exceedingly painful 
to sit by and watch the steady advance of the dis- 
ease and see the young life giving way under it, pow- 
erless to aid the suffering victim. He was a young 
man and made a long and hard fight against the deadly 
fever, but succumbed at last. We made him a grave 
in the prairie, hard by a strip of timber, and here, 
with military honors, his body, clad in his uniform and 
wrapped in his blanket, was deposited. "Earth to 
earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust." 



DEATH IN WASHITA RIVER. 

On the return, after marching some distance down 
the South Fork of the Canadian, the two squadrons 
separated. Captain Sackett's command returning to 
Fort Smith. Captain Wood's squadron, diverging to 
the right, crossed the divide between the waters of the 
Canadian and Red Rivers, and took a route along the 

278 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

side of the slope falling southward toward the Washita 
and parallel to the general course of that stream. 

One morning several men' obtained leave to go on 
a hunt. Late in the evening the command encamped 
on a creek across which it was necessary to throw a 
bridge. All of the hunting party but one came into 
camp in time for the evening roll call. They reported 
that upon leaving camp in the morning they had 
ridden straight to the timber that skirts the river, 
and then hunted along the edge of the woods, occa- 
sionally turning up a creek or branch, having divided 
their party so that two men hunted in company. - The 
missing man was Private Garriner, of Company I, a 
Georgian from the vicinity of Griffin. Later in the 
evening he had gone on in advance of his comrade, 
who, not coming up with him, and observing by the 
tracks of his horse that he had turned up a large 
creek to the north, rode on up the stream into camp, 
not doubting that Gerriner had preceded him. He 
had failed to observe what the tracks afterwards dis- 
closed: that Gerriner, after riding some distance up 
the stream, had turned and gone back to the river. 
Evidently, having failed to find a practicable crossing, 
he had conceived the idea of getting to the opposite 
side of the creek by entering the river above, then rid- 
ing down and coming out below. 

Opposite the mouth of the creek, and a little way 
out in the river, was a sand bar rising some feet above 
the water. Riding across to this bar, as appeared 
from the horse tracks, he turned down the river past 
the mouth of the creek and entered the water again, 
never to leave it in life. 

279 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Next morning a search party was sent out. Going 
to the point on the creek where his companion in the 
hunt had last seen the tracks of the horse, they fol- 
lowed the trail to the sand bar, and discovered the 
displacement of earth where the horse had ascended 
the bank below the mouth of the creek. Having some 
knowledge of the treacherous nature of the river bot- 
tom, and knowing it to be unnecessary to take the 
risk of following the horse by the route he had taken, 
since they could easily reach the east bank of the 
creek by returning to the bridge now nearly completed, 
they returned to camp and reported. 

Meantime Gerriner's horse and a little dog that had 
been with him had come in. The searchers took the 
trail of the horse and, accompanied by the dog, fol- 
lowed it back. When they were yet some distance 
from the river the little dog ran ahead. Stopping 
now and then, he would look back, whine pitifully, 
and then run on. On reaching the river, he stopped 
on the bank just where the horse had come out, and 
set up a howl which was described by one of the 
men as almost like a human wail. 

Gerriner's body was found about ten feet from the 
bank, at a depth of between five and six feet. His 
belt, with cartridge boxes, cap pouch, and pistol, was 
buckled around him. The bottom was of mud and 
sand. It was supposed that the horse, on reaching 
water beyond his depth, had begun to plunge, probably 
rising on his hind feet and sinking in the mud, and 
that Gerriner was either thrown off or jumped off to 
give his horse a better chance to relieve himself. 
However that may have been, the horse had struck 

280 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

him in the face with his foot, and the iron shoe had 
cut a deep gash across his nose and one eyebrow. 

No other incident worthy of remark occurred on 
the return march, which brought us by way of Fort 
Arbuckle. It may, however, be mentioned as a fact 
illustrating the faithfulness and skill of our worthy 
surgeon, Dr. Charles Page, that we left at this post 
the only miHtary patient that came under his care 
during eighteen months whom he failed to relieve, 
with the sole exception of Stafford, whose death I have 
already related. 

On arriving at Fort Washita, the usual routine of 
garrison life was resumed. 

On Furlough. 

On the first of September, having obtained a fur- 
lough for thirty days com.mencing on that date, I set 
out on a visit to a brother in Tarrant County, Tex. 
My route was by way of Preston, Denton, and Fort 
Worth. The first twenty miles was to the left of, 
and parallel with, the general course of the Washita, 
by a road which I found to be little better than a 
path, leading through a level woodland country, with 
here and there an open glade. As I proceeded south- 
ward, my path became less and less like a road until 
sometime in the evening I was forced to the conclu- 
sion that I had somewhat diverged from the proper 
and more traveled route. The route I was pursuing, 
however, I knew could not be far from my proper 
direction; so I pressed forward, urging my little 
Chickasaw pony to a brisk trot, trusting that the 
now hardly discernible path would somewhere inter- 

281 



IN BARRACK ANp FIELD. 

sect a more beaten track. As I advanced I noticed 
that the forest was no longer broken by open glades, 
which gave such pleasing variety to the scenery along 
the route of my morning ride. A deep sense of lone- 
liness began to oppress me. Dense shadows of over- 
arching trees made twilight while the sun was yet 
some distance above the horizon. I recognized the 
fact that I was in the depth of a swamp. The dense- 
ly shaded land yielding but little grass, the path was 
now plain. Knowing the practice of the natives in 
making bypaths where the main roads diverge from 
a right direction, I pressed forward, assuming that 
my path was a cut-off, or shorter way leading to the 
same point on Red River; that it had entered the 
swamp at the point of an easterly bend of the Wash- 
ita, and that, passing this bend, it would come out 
again into the open country. 

The forest, however, seemed to grow denser and 
darker, until I began to contemplate the dreary pros- 
pect of spending the night in the swamp. At length 
I came upon a path crossing my way at right angles, 
evidently more traveled than the one I was pursuing. 
I concluded at once that this would lead me directly 
out of the swamp; but calculating that the rate at 
which I had come must have brought me very near the 
river, I kept on. I had proceeded perhaps less than 
half a mile when the deep gloom began to abate, and 
I soon caught through the interstices of the forest a 
glimpse of water glinting in the rays of the now setting 
sun. I scarce could restrain a shout as I galloped 
over the intervening space and halted with the broad 
current of Red River spread out before me. 

282 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The path led down to the water; but, though the 
place was evidently a crossing, it would have been 
folly for me to undertake it, not knowing what direc- 
tion to take to avoid quicksand and reach the place 
of egress on the south bank. I therefore returned to 
the path I had crossed, and, taking the east end, soon 
reached the open country and came directly upon a 
cabin in the woods. As I rode into the open space of 
hardly a quarter of an acre a pack of dogs rushed 
toward me, barking fiercely. At first I was somewhat 
startled, but on perceiving that they were hounds 
quickly recovered my composure, and rode forward 
just as the owner came out and called them off. The 
man was a characteristic backwoodsman. He had the 
natural reserve of one little used to the society of men, 
with the grave dignity of one who finds companion- 
ship in the solitudes of nature. 

Having exchanged greetings, I explained briefly 
the circumstances that had led me to his solitary abode 
and the necessity of asking his hospitality. Bidding 
me welcome to such entertainment as he could give, 
he invited me to "light," tie my pony, and come in. 
His family had come out, or to the door of the hut, to 
see the stranger. The group consisted of the wife 
and some half dozen children, from boys nearing man- 
hood down to a little tot that peeped out from the 
mother's skirts, all with faces and clothing suggestive 
of the coal pit, or at least a pine knot fire. 

The good woman, by the time I had unsaddled 
my pony and taken a seat in the yard with mine host, 
had already set about preparing supper, and a half 
hour later I sat down to partake of corn hoecake and 

283 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

fried bacon, with all the relish of one who, with appe- 
tite sharpened by a long ride, had so recently had 
but dim prospect of finding anything to stay his hun- 
ger for the night. 

At one side of the yard was a second and somewhat 
larger cabin, vacant and without flooring. Into this, 
with my host's permission cheerfully given, I led the 
pony ; and tethering him between two sleepers, I spread 
my blanket between the next two and, wrapping my- 
self in it, with my saddle for a pillow, slept the deep, 
sound, refreshing sleep that comes to him who, aweary 
with toil, is oppressed with no harassing care. 

Truly, I was not altogether free from apprehension. 
I had made the crowded condition of the one room 
occupied by the family a convenient excuse for pro- 
posing to sleep in the vacant cabin, but I had a secret 
fear that my faithful Ben (pony) might get loose 
and stray into the pathless forest — a thing quite pos- 
sible, with a little help from an outsider. I preferred, 
therefore, to sleep with him, as it were. Nor did the 
balmy goddess respond at once to my wooing. I was 
somewhat disturbed by speculations relating to the 
unknown character of my host, who had chosen to 
isolate himself from his fellow-men to dwell in this 
wilderness. 

I had known in my youth away back in my native 
Georgia a class of restless, migratory people who, 
when neighbors began to settle within a few miles of 
them, would pull up stakes and push on westward, 
keeping, as far as lay in their power, ever to the ex- 
treme frontier of civilization — men whose pulses 
quickened at the voice of the baying hound, and who 

284 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

found a bounding joy in the excitement of the chase. 
Possibly my host was one of this class ; and possibly a 
fugitive from the face of justice — a criminal who might 
at that moment have been meditating another crime of 
which I should be the victim. No, no ; I would not in- 
dulge suspicions so unworthy. Crime does not make 
its abiding place in the deep solitudes of nature. Here, 
where all things are suggestive of peace and harmony 
and the beneficence of the Creator, villainy must lose 
its instinct and imbibe a new nature from its sur- 
roundings. Let those who dwell in the crowded 
places of earth He down at night in tremulous dread 
of murderous burglars; let those who struggle in the 
world's great marts, wearing life away in the greed 
of gain, too often bartering truth and honor for gold — 
let them fear the cowardly assassin and the hired thug ; 
for there, hard by and in the midst of the throngs of 
civilization, are the deep, dark, polluted purlieus of 
crime. It is there that human creatures, when the 
curtains of night have fallen over the haunts of men, 
come forth from secret dens and stalk abroad, more 
dangerous than any panther that ever waked the 
echoes of the forest. Whether my speculations ran 
exactly in the channel here set forth or not, certain 
it is that they were soon lost in sleep, from which I 
did not awake until the birds began to proclaim the 
coming of another day. 

As soon as it was light enough to discern a path, 
having received very plain directions from my host 
as to the route, I mounted and proceeded on my jour- 
ney. A ride of half a mile brought me out on a ridge 
to the trail which I had lost the evening before. Fol- 

285 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

lowing this, I soon came to the river, and, calling the 
ferryman from the other side, crossed over into the 
little village of Preston, which I found to be almost 
destitute of two of the important elements of a town — 
houses and people. From this place I rode through 
a very sparsely settled country to Denton, where I 
found a population of about two hundred, and very 
good accommodations in a small tavern. 

Ben Cruelly Deceives Me. 

The route from Denton to Fort Worth led over a 
rolling prairie country. Early in the afternoon Ben 
began to show symptoms of weariness. It was my 
intention to ride through to my destination, twelve 
miles beyond Fort Worth. As I proceeded, Ben 
seemed to lag and become more and more indifferent 
to the spur, until I began to fear I should have to 
spend another night on the way. At the same time I 
felt sorry for the little fellow and was reluctant to urge 
him. I resolved to relieve him as far as possible of 
the burden of my weight ; and dismounting at the foot 
of every long ascent, I led him to the summit. Pro- 
ceeding in this way, I had walked until quite w^ary, 
when, having crossed the Trinity at a ferry, I rode into 
Fort Worth, which I found to be a small village sit- 
uated on a bluff overlooking the river. 

Stopping only long enough to get some necessary 
information about the way, I pushed on. I had 
reached the top of the ascent from the village to the 
table-land which stretches away to the south when I 
discovered a prairie hen in the grass about fifteen 
paces to my right, and stopped to take a shot at it 

286 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

with my revolver. At the report of the shot the bird 
fluttered straight upward to a great height, then, 
spreading her wings, sailed off toward the Trinity, 
without a movement of the wings that I could dis- 
cern, until she disappeared in the timber. At this 
moment a gentleman, driving a splendid horse, in a 
light gig, came up. He had come from the village 
and was going my way. In response to a request for 
more particular direction to my brother's place, he 
said that he was going into his neighborhood, and that 
if I would keep up with him he would show me his 
house. I told him that my pony seemed to be tired out, 
and asked to be directed, so that if I should fall behind 
I would know how to go. While he described the route 
I observed that, although the horse trotted along right 
briskly, my pony kept along at the side of the gig 
without any urging on my part ; and when the gentle- 
man, having finished his directions, let his horse out 
in a sweeping trot, little Ben sprang forward with the 
spirit of a racer, still keeping his place, and with ap- 
parently little effort. To say that I was surprised 
expresses it but feebly. And when he had kept neck 
and neck with the horse for ten miles without break I 
said: "Ben, you are a little hypocrite." Parting from 
my unknown friend and leaving the road, a trot of 
something over a mile across the prairie brought me to 
my brother's door. 

287 



PART III. 

CAMP, TRAMP, AND BATTLE IN THE SIXTIES. 
19 



The author has, in these Reminiscences, told no unusual 
experiences — related no thrilling adventures, such as hun- 
dreds of veterans have told, and well told, in print. While 
his story includes something of battle and danger and death, 
if battle were the only, or even the best, test of a soldier's 
courage, he might well shrink from putting it in contrast with 
the tales of a thousand heroes of conflicts in which Death 
rode reckless over fields of carnage. But the things that 
try the souls of men in war are not all in the line of battle, 
and he trusts that his simple narrative will bring to the notice 
of the reader features of the life of the soldier in time of war 
which, though rarely presented, are yet essential to an under- 
standing of v/hat war really is. 



A PATRIOT MOTHER. 

"My son, I have given you all up to the country." 
It was the year 1861. Georgia had passed the act 
severing her relations with the federation of States, 
and the Confederate Government had been organized. 
Volunteer companies and regiments were forming all 
over the South; the spirit of war was in the air. I 
found time in the midst of my own preparations to 
take the field to visit my mother, who had for ten 
years been a widow. We were alone. "Mother," I 
said, "this war will probably go on for a long time. 
It is likely that all your boys who are not too old 
will engage in it; how do you feel about it?" 

"My son, I have been praying over it, and I have 
given you all up to the country." As she uttered 
these words — noble as ever fell from the lips of Spar- 
tan mother — the dear, melting eyes seemed to look 
into my very soul. Their expression lingers in mem- 
ory now, after forty-three years, and will perhaps re- 
main with me while I have power to recall the past. 
She had married a soldier, just returned from the 
war of 1812-15; she had given up a sturdy boy of 
fifteen to fight the Seminoles in the Everglades of 
Florida; another son had been an officer in the Creek 
wars; she had persuaded my father not to accept for 
me an appointment in the United States Military 
Academy, because she thought me physically unfit for 
the toils and hardships of military life. But now, 
when her country calls for it, after appealing to the 

291 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

God of battles for support, this mother, whose dom- 
inant characteristics were meekness, love, and self- 
abnegation, with what hidden agony we know not, 
comes uncomplainingly to the supreme sacrifice: "My 
son, I have prayed over it, and I have given you all 
up to the country." 

And she was a type of Southern women. Is it pos- 
sible to conquer a race of men born of such mothers? 
They may be overwhelmed, they may be crushed by 
superior numbers and resources, but — conquered? 
Never. Much has been written about the patriotic, 
self-sacrificing spirit of the Southern woman. Her 
praises have resounded from every rostrum from 
which Southern eloquence has electrified the hearts of 
men, and Poesy has called up her sweetest fancies in 
laudation of her courage; yet not the half has been 
told. 

Secession — Unsuccessful Application for Com- 
mission. 

I had been opposed to secession. I believed it would 
bring on a war, for which we were by no means pre- 
pared. In Kansas I had heard the first mutterings of 
the storm. I had witnessed indubitable evidences, in 
the conduct of the agents of the New England Emi- 
grant Aid Society in the bloody strife in which that 
unhappy territory was involved, that fanaticism, in 
the blindness of its wrath, would halt at nothing that 
stood in the way of pushing the ''Irrepressible Con- 
flict," which had been already inaugurated, to its log- 
ical and inevitable conclusion — the destruction of the 
Constitutional guarantees established by our forefa- 

292 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

thers, even though it should involve the disruption of 
the union of the States. 

The secession of the Southern States would give the 
fanatics the occasion they wished for, bringing to 
their aid those who, hitherto indifferent on the ques- 
tion of slavery, held the perpetuation of the Union 
paramount to all other considerations. Entertaining 
these views, when the election came on for delegates 
to the convention called to consider the policy to be 
pursued by the State under the circumstances, I ex- 
erted the little influence I had in favor of the anti- 
secession candidates in my county. They were elected 
by small majorities. 

The action taken is matter of history. Georgia's 
relationship to the Federal Government of the United 
States was severed. I had been bred in the doctrine 
that the first allegiance of the citizen was due the 
State — a doctrine generally accepted, as appeared by 
the acquiescence of the people in the action of the 
convention. When it was known that the Federal 
Government had resolved on the policy of coercion, 
there lingered in my mind no doubt as to where the 
path of duty lay. 

The Governor was authorized to raise and equip 
two regiments of regulars. I immediately applied, 
through the Adjutant General, for a commission in 
one of these. Later I learned that Hon. Ahaz J. Bog- 
gess, then Surveyor General, had, in conjunction with 
other friends, without consulting me, recommended 
me for a commission. Major Boggess wrote me ex- 
pressing implicit confidence in the success of their 
application. That he was deceived became apparent 

293 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

when I received from the office of the Adjutant Gen- 
eral a list of the full quota of officers appointed for 
the two regiments, my name not appearing in it. 

I had within a year ended a period of five years' 
service with the United States cavalry on the frontier. 
I was well versed in the army regulations, experienced 
in the discipline and details of military service, and 
fairly skilled in tactics. I do not yet think I was over- 
ambitious in asking for a lieutenancy. I was dis- 
appointed, but not discouraged. There was more 
honor in the confidence of the gentlemen who had 
indorsed me than his Excellency could have conferred 
in granting their request. 

Maj. AhAZ J. BOGGESS. 

Maj. Ahaz J. Boggess was one of Nature's noble- 
men. No more unselfish man, nor one more devoted 
to his family and friends, or truer to public trusts, 
was ever nurtured on Georgia soil. He entered the Con- 
federate service with the company of Capt. A. T. Burke, 
of the Seventh Georgia, serving as private, though 
not enlisted, and paying his own expenses. At the first 
battle of Manassas, as aid to Col. L. J. Gartrell, of 
the Seventh, he did gallant service, not only in carry- 
ing orders, but in encouraging and rallying the men 
when compelled by superior forces to retire, and cheer- 
ing them on in their last grand charge, when the enemy 
was driven from the field. Once he was knocked 
down by a shell, but with dauntless courage continued 
to discharge the duties assigned him. 

Another brave son of Georgia, Willie Garrison, who 
afterwards fell at Seven Pines, in an eloquent tribute 

294 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

to Major Boggess, says : ''Although acting as bearer 
of dispatches, he found time to be with the Carroll 
Volunteers (most of whom were his old friends and 
acquaintances) and encourage them to stand to their 
posts and do their duty worthily." 

When Captain Burke fell, his thigh shattered by a 
bullet. Major Boggess bore him from the field on his 
horse. After the battle he devoted himself to the 
care of his wounded comrades in the hospitals, until, 
stricken with typhoid fever, he was sent to Richmond, 
where in a few days his useful and promising career 
ended in death, in the forty-fifth year of his age. 

When tidings of the death of Major Boggess were 
received in the county of his former home, meetings 
were called at CarroUton, Villa Rica, and Farmville 
Academy to give public expression to the deep sense 
of loss and the profound sorrow of the people. I 
can only reproduce here a brief extract from the 
preamble to the resolutions adopted by the meeting at 
CarroUton : ''He did not fall amid the roar of cannon 
and the din of war. Providence spared him that the 
nobleness of his soul might shine out and be fully dis- 
played before it set forever, in soothing and attend- 
ing, as no other could, the cares and wants of the 
wounded. In this mission of love he contracted the 
disease which has deprived us, the State, and his fam- 
ily of a patriot, husband, father, friend." 

With those who fell in the frantic hour of battle, 
their faces to the foe, he was spared the spectacle of 
his country's desolation. My father's friend and mine, 
I give to thy honored name the sincere tribute of a 
grateful memory! 

295 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

RAISING A COMPANY. 

Having failed to get a commission in the State reg- 
ulars, I joined, as a private, a company which Captain 
Jenkens had begun to raise in the county of Paulding 
for twelve months' service. An election for officers, 
held at Dallas, resulted so unsatisfactorily, in regard 
especially to one of the lieutenants chosen, that a num- 
ber of men — sixteen, if my memory is not at fault — 
at once withdrew. Subsequently the company dis- 
banded and was reorganized. I did not participate in 
the reorganization. This was the first company sent 
out from Paulding, and one of the first to receive the 
baptism of fire at Manassas, under the lamented Bar- 
tow. The stubbornness with which they met the as- 
saults of superior numbers, as well as the heavy loss 
sustained, sufficiently attests the high spirit of the 
volunteers, undisciplined as they were. 

The disbanding of the original company of course 
released those who had been unwilling to serve under 
the officers at first chosen, and they at once began to 
take steps to raise another company, of which they 
proposed that I should be captain, with Hon, Miles 
Edwards as first lieutenant. Mr. Edwards was a 
man of Christian character, well known and highly 
respected throughout the county. Yet we did not 
find any great enthusiasm for enlistment in the pro- 
posed company. The call was now for men to serve 
"three years, or during the war." Many who were 
ready to enlist for twelve months halted long to think 
about the three years. I made little talks wherever 
I could get audiences over the county, presenting as 

296 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

well as I could the view that if the war should be 
prolonged beyond a year, no true lover of his country 
would want to give up the fight. Indeed, we would 
then be in better condition to carry on the war than 
now, because we would then have the advantage of 
discipline, training, and experience. Some objected to 
me as captain. "He is from the regular army," they 
said, ''and will want to enforce regular army disci- 
pline." 

That was not the only instance in which I have 
known objections urged against a man on account 
of the very qualifications that most fitted him for, and 
therefore constituted his highest claim to, the post 
to which he aspired. Four years of war removed the 
popular prejudice as to the enforcement of discipline ; 
for every experienced soldier, of average intelligence, 
knows that the men of those commands in which a 
just but firm discipline is maintained always fare 
better and do better service than those of commands 
in which it is neglected. 

The Nineteenth Georgia Volunteers. 

At length our company was organized, equipped, 
and mustered in as part of the Nineteenth Regiment, 
Georgia Volunteers, at Camp McDonald, in the county 
of Cobb, where the Fourth Georgia Brigade was as- 
sembled for instruction. 

The officers and companies of the regiment were 
as follows : 

Colonel, W. W. Boyd; Lieutenant Colonel, Thomas 
J. Johnson; Major, A. J. Hutchins; Adjutant, James 
P. Perkins; Acting Surgeon, George L. Jones; Com- 

297 



IN BARRACK AND FJELD. 

missary, A. J. Kennedy; Quartermaster, Samuel V. 
Sheats. 

Company A, Fulton County: Captain, F. M. John- 
son; First Lieutenant, W. T. Mead; Second Lieuten- 
ant, F. W. Stovall ; Third Lieutenant, William Mackie. 

Company B, Fulton County: Captain, James H. 
Neal ; First Lieutenant, D. S. Myers ; Second Lieuten- 
ant, John Keely; Third Lieutenant, H. Fenton. 

Company C, Campbell County: Captain, James J. 
Beall; First Lieutenant, William H. Johnson; Second 
Lieutenant, J. A. Richardson; Third Lieutenant, R. 
D. Hogan. 

Company D, Coweta County: Captain, J. D. Hun- 
ter ; First Lieutenant, C. C. Seavy ; Second Lieutenant, 
J. W. Hance; Third Lieutenant, W. J. Bridges. 

Company E, Heard County: Captain, Charles W. 
Mabry ; First Lieutenant, S. McDowell ; Second Lieu- 
tenant, D. H. Simmes; Third Lieutenant, G. S. Mar- 
tin. 

Company F, Carroll County: Captain, William 
Ezra Curtis; First Lieutenant, Augustus H. Black; 
Second Lieutenant, H. M. Williams; Third Lieuten- 
ant, H. W. Benson. 

Company G, Henry County: Captain, T. W. Flynt; 
First Lieutenant, H. Stokes; Second Lieutenant, J. 
R. Selfridge; Third Lieutenant, B. S. Elliott. 

Company H, Paulding County: Captain, John B. 
Beall ; First Lieutenant, Miles Edwards ; Second Lieu- 
tenant, M. T. Pickett; Third Lieutenant, J. W. 
Neely. 

Company I, Carroll County: Captain, John T. 
Chambers; First Lieutenant, J. J. Abercrombie; Sec- 

298 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ond Lieutenant, F. A. Wilds; Third Lieutenant, J. L. 
Chambers. 

Company K, Bartow County: Captain, John W. 
Hooper; First Lieutenant, J. Dunlap; Second Lieu- 
tenant, W. M. Tumlin; Third Lieutenant, D. Brown- 
field. 

A number of young gentlemen of the Georgia Mil- 
itary Institute were detailed as drill officers, and did 
good service in converting our volunteers into soldiers. 
I did not require their assistance, but one of the 
cadets, who had been assigned to my company but had 
not reported, took occasion very kindly to call my 
attention to certain cavalry maneuvers which I had 
unconsciously mixed with my infantry tactics, a re- 
sult of my long service in the cavalry. 

An agreeable comradeship was quickly established 
among the officers — a harmony founded on mutual 
respect and a common purpose, which was never, with- 
in my knowledge, except in a single instance, inter- 
rupted. We discussed freely questions relating to the 
service. I found that most of the officers entertained 
the opinion that it would not do to enforce strict mil- 
itary rule until after entering the field of operations. 
I thought it better to begin at once the enforcement of 
discipline, that we might, when we should come into 
the field of active service, rather relax the hand of 
military rule than otherwise. Recalling now the sub- 
sequent history of my company, it appears that I was 
right. Only one man of Company H was ever 
brought before a court-martial while I had the honor 
to command it, and in that case I did not prefer the 
charges. I do not claim that none of the boys ever 

299 



IN BARRACK ANP FIELD. 

went just a little astray. The true disciplinarian will 
sometimes shut his eyes or look the other way. Only 
the martinet keeps a search light playing among his 
men looking for petty offenses. 

One of the first offenses for which a penalty was 
inflicted was that of Private Al Kemp, of Company 
H, who was required to dig up a stump on the com- 
pany parade ground, for having refused to serve when 
detailed for guard duty. Some ladies passing while 
he was manfully struggling with his task, one of them 
said in his hearing, in a tone of sympathy: ''Just look 
at that poor man." Al, raising his six feet of anat- 
omy to its utmost altitude, his mattock suspended 
above his shoulder ready for a telling stroke, paused 
only long enough to respond: "I God, madam, this is 
the way I got my sta-a-r-t." 

Kemp proved himself a good soldier, and never 
afterwards, as far as I knew, subjected himself to 
any penalty. 

While at this place there occurred an incident, not 
of itself worth relating, but which I afterwards had 
reason to remember with pleasure. In battalion drill 
Captain Flynt was my chief of division. He was not 
up in this branch of the tactics, and on one occasion, 
when the preliminary commands had been given for 
the performance of a certain evolution, seeing him 
uncertain about the movement required of our division, 
I ventured to suggest it by a question, as if asking 
for information. His quick intelligence caught the 
idea, he gave the proper command promptly, and went 
through the evolution triumphantly. He called on me 
afterwards, thanked me, and added that if I had, on 

300 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

that drill, told him what to do in a way to show his 
men that I knew more about it than he "there would 
have been a fight right there." And I was glad I 
hadn't. 

The friendly relations having their beginning in this 
trivial incident were such that I was able subsequent- 
ly to assist in the adjustment of an affair between the 
gallant Captain and another friend, of no less courage, 
which had been almost at the point of ''pistols and 
coffee for two." Captain Flynt was a very sensitive 
man, and quick to resent any trespass on his rights or 
discourtesy to his person; but he was generous and 
just, and animated by a courage that no danger could 
appall. To the great loss of the service and sorrow 
of his comrades, he was desperately wounded at 
Sharpsburg, and his military career ended. 

Adjutant Perkins. 

The ludicrous is sometimes in curious juxtaposi- 
tion to the serious. I recall a case in point. The 
brigade was to pass in review before the Governor and 
his staff, and was marching to the field. On the 
fences and banks along the road many people had 
taken places for a good view of the moving column. 
Adjutant Perkins, of ours, was marching along in all 
the glory of sash and sword and padded uniform, 
with head erect and martial stride, when his attention 
was attracted by a loud ''Ha, ha" from the fence: 
"Ha, ha, ha ! Well I'll be golderned if thar ain't the 
old Squar!" Looking in the direction from which 
these, to him, ill-seeming sounds of hilarity emanated, 
Perkins recognized the lank form of a countryman 

301 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

whom he had frequently seen at court when, in the 
recent heyday of peace, he had presided as Justice of 
the Peace in the good county of Floyd. 

It was this same Jim Perkins who, being desperate- 
ly wounded and in the hands of a surgeon, had with 
him the following colloquy: "Doctor, what chance 
have I of recovery?" 

"Well, Adjutant, that's a hard question to answer." 

"Have I one chance in ten?" 

"I am sorry to say, Perkins, that I think not." 

"Is there one in a hundred?" 

"It grieves me, old fellow, to say it, but I fear there 
is not one in a hundred." ^ 

"Well, is there one in a thousand?" 

"Yes, I believe there is." 

"Well, by gum, I'll take that one." 

He took it and recovered. Dear old Perkins ! 
Worthy brother of that other Adjutant, John N. Per- 
kins, of the First Georgia Cavalry, who, in an assault 
on a Federal garrison at Murfreesboro, Tenn., for 
the encouragement of the boys, galloped around the 
courthouse until a chance shot from an upper window 
knocked him off his horse. These brave brothers 
were of the class of soldiers who win the hearts of 
comrades. Dear old Perkins, of ours, I forgive thee 
thy putting a sack over the top of my chimney at 
Camp Johnson, Va., and smoking me out of my tent. 
And I wish that some gentle hand would for me 
place a wreath upon thy tomb, wherever thy bullet- 
shattered bones repose. 

302 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

OFF FOR LYNCHBURG. 

Our regiment had attained a very fair efficiency in 
discipline and drill when it was ordered to Lynchburg, 
Va., and on a fair summer day we found ourselves 
on a freight train, whirling away northward. After 
the parting with our loved ones, I think most of us 
were glad to be in motion. At Dalton it was said 
that the train would be detained some hours. I 
availed myself of the delay to call on some relatives 
in the city. I was so kindly received and so delight- 
fully entertained that all too quickly the time allotted 
for my visit sped away. Feeling it to be the severing 
of the last link connecting me with the pleasures of 
home, I bade my cousins good-by and went out into 
the night. Hurrying to the station, I found, much 
to my surprise, that our train was gone. It had moved 
out an hour earlier than the time given me for its 
departure. 

Determined not to be left again, I sat down at the 
station to await the passenger train, following ours, 
and to think of the charming group I had just left, 
and of other groups where love and pleasure and 
peace had smiled on life, and hope had opened to view 
fair visions of a glad future. Would this war blast 
them forever? 

Getting aboard the passenger train on its arrival, 
I passed the troop train somewhere en route, and, in 
the early morning, alighted at Loudon to await it. 
Having breakfasted, I took a position near the track, 
ready and eager to rejoin my comrades. At length 
our train appears, but there is no apparent slackening 

303 



IN BARRACK AND I^IELD. 

of Speed as it comes on. It passes me. I step out on 
the track, hoping it will stop farther on. It sweeps 
on across the bridge — it is gone ! 

I think I might have been excused if I had said 
some words, or even quoted Lord Ullin's despairing 
utterance, 

"Come back, come back," he cried, in grief, 
Across this stormy water ; 

but I thought it better to consult the railway schedules. 
I did so ; and finding there would be no passenger train 
east until next morning, I got on a west-bound freight 
and went back to Athens. Here I hired a horse and 
rode out twelve miles to visit a very dear sister in 
Monroe County. Returning to Athens by starlight 
next morning, I caught the east-bound passenger, and 
at last, late in the evening, had the satisfaction of com- 
ing up with my command at Bristol. 

It transpired later that some one had written, to 
another some one in Paulding, that "Captain Beall had 
deserted." This is a lesson on circumstantial evi- 
dence. Also it teaches that malice is mendacious. 
From Bristol the regiment went by rail to Lynchburg, 
where, on a plateau back of the city in a fine grove 
bordering on a field, it encamped. Here we wrote let- 
ters, mounted guard, drilled, and suffered an epi- 
demic of measles. The monotony of daily routine 
was relieved agreeably by the interchange of visits 
among ourselves and with citizens, many of whom 
opened their homes to us with genuine old Virginia 
hospitality, so that, though our hearts were heavy 
over the depletion of our ranks by the epidemic, the 
time did not drag. 

304 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I had here a bit of interesting experience with some 
men of Colonel Wheat's battalion of Zouaves. Colo- 
nel Boyd, having sent for me one evening, said: "We 
have here half a dozen prisoners belonging to Wheat's 
battalion. They have been arrested several times and 
sent under guard, the officer of the guard having or- 
ders to deliver them at Colonel Wheat's headquarters. 
But by some means they have invariably escaped. 
Colonel Wheat is to leave for the front by an early 
train to-morrow, and wants these men to go with him. 
Do you think you can take them securely to the sta- 
tion and deliver them to him?" 

I did not regard this as a very formidable task. It 
was not as if one were ordered to storm a redoubt. 
So I replied: ''If ordered to do it, I would certainly 
endeavor to obey." 

Thus it happened that I found myself next morning 
at the head of a guard, conducting our prisoners into 
the city. When we had advanced some distance into 
the corporate limits one of them asked permission to 
speak to me. "What is it?" 

"Captain," said he, with a graceful salute, "I put 
out some clothes to be washed — only two blocks down 
that street — all the clothes I have, except these I have 
on. Can I have permission to go and get them? 
Send a guard with me, if you don't want to trust me." 

"No; there will be no turning aside until we get to 
the station and report to Colonel Wheat. You can 
then ask his permission to return." 

We had scarcely advanced another block, when an- 
other one of my chrages discovered that he had a 
sister whom he must be permitted to embrace for the 
20 305 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

last time. "She lives at a house just yonder at the 
end of this alley, plainly in view." 

Even this pathetic appeal to my sympathy did not 
move me, so inexorable is military rule. We had 
reached the block in the rear of which is the railway 
station, when my firmness was put to the last test: 
''Captain, my comrade and I left our rifles, cartridge 
boxes, and bayonets in a room back of the restaurant 
we are approaching. It is only just through the res- 
taurant and up a short flight of steps. If you will 
wait while we run in and get them, we will not detain 
you a minute." 

This was plausible. But it had already become ap- 
parent to me that in this way these men, by playing 
on the credulity of officers young in the service, had 
heretofore so often escaped. Five minutes later I 
turned all my prisoners over to Colonel Wheat at the 
station. Two of them approached him and evidently 
got permission to go into the barroom of the hotel 
opposite the station. At least they went there. The 
others very quietly entered the waiting train, took 
seats, and began to produce from about their persons 
their light Zouave uniforms and put them on over the 
apparel in which they had before appeared. They 
made to Colonel Wheat no pretense whatever of hav- 
ing left anything in the city for which they wished to 
return. 

306 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ORDERED TO MANASSAS. 

The V( ^unteer's Antipathy to Hospitals — 
Wreck on the Rail. 

On September 15 the Nineteenth Georgia was or- 
dered to Manassas. The morning report of Company 
H for that date showed: For duty, 3 officers and 21 
men; sick, i officer and 42 men. This company was 
from the hill country. It was not so bad with those 
gathered from the cities and towns. The most of the 
latter had fortunately had measles in childhood, and 
were now immune. In fact, the boys from urban 
communities were, generally, less affected by the ex- 
posure incident to camp life than were those from 
rural districts — a fact doubtless due to differences in 
their habits of life — the town boy often spending much 
of the night in quest of adventures that give zest to 
his existence, whether profitably or not, and sleeping 
when sleep is convenient. The farmer boy is apt to 
live more closely up to the maxim of good old Ben 
Franklin : 

Early to bed and early to rise 

Makes a man healthy, wealthy, and wise. 

Not that he expects any such results from this man- 
ner of living, but at night he is usually tired, he wants 
sleep, and there are few temptations to go abroad that 
outweigh his inclination to rest. Hence it happens 
that the irregularities of life in camp involve such 
radical changes in his habits that his health is very apt 
to be injuriously affected. 

One of our boys had died of measles. We had 
307 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

put him in a tent close to mine and had given him 
every possible attention, but could not save him. 
Nearly all the volunteers had an unreasoning prej- 
udice against hospitals. It v^as difficult to convince 
them of the fact that in the hospital, under regulations 
enforced with military strictness, is found the surest 
chance for the safe and speedy recovery of the sick. 

I spent most of the day preceding our departure 
visiting the boys in the hospitals. I cautioned them 
against the danger of relapse by getting out too early, 
and enforced the caution by promising to send back the 
first man who should come into camp before he v/as 
thoroughly cured. 

On the night of the i6th, as we sped northward, our 
train became uncoupled, the engine, with perhaps a 
third of the cars, going forward with increased speed, 
the other part following with but little less. Through 
the stupidity of a brakeman, who stood upon the hind- 
most box with a red light, instead of running forward 
to the front of the detached section, as the engineer 
ran back a collision resulted and a box car was tel- 
escoped and torn into splinters. 

It seems providential that only two men were killed. 
The body of one of these, a soldier, was horribly 
stabbed by splinters and was with much difficulty ex- 
tricated from the wreck. When the surgeons had 
done all for him that could be done, as he lay on a 
mattress at the roadside he spoke to me, calling my 
name ; and I found, to my surprise, that he was an old 
soldier of the Sixth United States Infantry, who had 
known me at Fort Leavenworth in the days of my 
cavalry service. His injuries proved fatal. The oth- 

308 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



er victim of the wreck was a negro servant of Capt. 
C. W. Mabry. He was sleeping on the platform of 
one of the cars and was killed outright. 

At length we were safe at Manassas Junction. We 
availed olirselves of the first opportunity to visit the 
far-famed scene of the first bloody struggle between the 
opposing forces. Here where the Seventh and Eighth 
Georgia of Bartow's Brigade met the fire of the foe m 
tenfold numbers I noted signs of the wild marksman- 
ship of the Federal infantry, in bullet scars twenty-five 
to thirty feet up on the trunks of the small trees. 
But this battle ground has been so often described that 
anything I could write of it would be of little interest. 
Its memories are cherished with the names of Bartow 
and Bee and Howard, and the hundreds of less known 
but no less brave men who here gave their lives m 
defense of their country. 

The following extract from a letter of October 17, 
1861, is given as illustrative of the cares of a company 
commander : 

Just half of my company here. About a third of 

that half are unfit for duty. Two cases of fever and 

one of epilepsy. The men have received no clotnmg 

yet Fortunately, most of them brought suits of jeans 

from home. I could have had every man comfortably 

clad before now if I had not depended on his being 

supplied from home. I got the Colonel's approval to 

send Lieutenant Edwards home to brmg clothing and 

have written him to go on from Lynchburg, but the 

commandant there may not let him go. In any event 

he can't get back before the 4th of next month, and 

we have dready had days cold enough for greatcoats^ 

Well I reckon they have done the best they could 

for us kt home, and we ought not to complam; and i 

309 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

could not foresee that it would have been better to 
have depended on getting clothing in Virginia, so 
regrets on that subject are vain. 

Pardon me for writing all this to you. It was on 
my mind and will give you some idea of the anxieties 
that press upon me. 

In a letter of earlier date (October 8, 1861) I had 
written : 

The next thing in your letter calling for reply re- 
lates to the probabilities as to a battle here on the Poto- 
mac. As the lawyers says, it is an improbable pos- 
sibility. The enemy well knows our strength and his 
own weakness — too well by far to attack us here. All 
his ingenuity will first be exhausted in trying to draw 
us on to an attack, or to induce our General to detach 
a large force to protect some threatened point. 

There was firing between the pickets this morning, 
and it has been kept up at intervals all day. We be- 
lieve our hope well grounded that there will be no 
great battle for weeks, perhaps for months, to come, 
and by that time our brave boys will be able to take the 
field. I am told that the enemy's pickets were driven 
back this morning, with a loss of five prisoners. 

The large proportion of the sick in the regiment 
kept us from picket duty, which would have some- 
what relieved the monotony of the daily routine of 
guard duty and drill. 



A WONDERFUL MEMORY. 

A FEW days after our arrival at Manassas, Colonel 
Boyd sent me up to army headquarters, near Fairfax 
C. H., on some business with the office of the 

310 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Adjutant General. On the way I had the good for- 
tune to fall in with ex-Governor Smith, of Virginia, 
who brightened the way, as far as we rode together, 
with converse so entertaining that I was really sorry 
when we came to the parting of our ways.- His senti- 
ments w'ere those of a patriot, his manner that of a 
cultured gentleman. Our ways diverging, I ap- 
proached the headquarters alone, somewhat concerned 
about whether I would be able to bring myself to 
General Johnston's recollection. Dismounting at a 
gate and leaving my horse, I walked up a gravel way 
which led by an easy ascent to the house. General 
Johnston was standing in the yard talking with Gen. 
Robert E. Lee. While I was yet ten yards away, he 
turned toward me and called out: ''Hello, Beall." He 
had last seen me at Fort Kearney, Nebr., in the sum- 
mer of 1858. But neither lapse of time nor change 
of apparel from the uniform of a sergeant of United 
States Cavalry to that of a Confederate captain had 
for a moment baffled the old hero's wonderful faculty 
of remembering names and faces. His power in this 
respect is strikingly illustrated by the following anec- 
dote related by the late Gen. William S. W^alker: 
During the Mississippi campaign leading up to the 
siege of Vicksburg, a young man arrived at General 
Johnston's headquarters, near Jackson, with dispatches 
from Pemberton. The General himself came out of 
his tent, received the dispatches, and, having learned 
the courier's name and that he wished to start back 
next morning before day, told him to call, before leav- 
ing, at the Adjutant's office for dispatches. He then 
called an orderly and, having instructed him to see 

311 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

that the man and his horse were provided for, retired 
to his tent. He saw the young man no more during 
the war. Some time after the return of peace, Gen- 
eral Walker, being tax collector of Fulton County, 
Ga., chanced to employ as a clerk in his office in At- 
lanta the young man who had been Pemberton's 
courier. One day General Johnston came into this 
office to exchange greetings with his old comrade — 
for they had fought together in Mexico, and General 
Walker had been a captain of the First United States 
Cavalry when "Old Joe" was its lieutenant colonel. 
Having given the hand of his old friend a hearty 
shake, he looked around the room to see if there might 
be others whom he would greet. His eyes fell upon 
the former courier, who, at his desk across the room, 
had looked around. Without the slightest hesitation 
or expression of doubt as to the man's identity, he 
pronounced his name, stepped across the room, and 
gave him a cordial greeting. 



GENERAL LOVELL. 

Finding the Adjutant General engaged, I came out 
on a little portico at the front to await his leisure. 
Here also sat General Lovell and another officer whom 
I did not know. They were discussing the situation 
at New Orleans, to the command and defense of 
which General Lovell was to be appointed. I was 
surprised to hear him speak disparagingly of General 
Twiggs and express his resolution not to serve under 

312 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

him. Afterwards, when New Orleans had fallen, in 
view of the very imperfect and ineffective measures 
which had been provided for the defense of a position 
of so great importance, it occurred to me that it had 
been quite as well to have left the old volunteer gen- 
eral in command. Major General Twiggs had won 
in Mexico, at the head of a division of volunteers, a 
reputation for both courage and skill that entitled him 
to very high consideration. 

True military greatness is never overconfident nor 
prone to depreciate ability in others, and it is an un- 
wise government that puts its trust in men who make 
rank and power a condition of service and fealty. 

November i, 1861. There is heavy firing down on 
the Potomac to-day. Our regiment is so placed as to 
support a regiment guarding the fords of Bull Run 
and the Occoquan to the right of Manassas, in case of 
attack, which, however, we do not apprehend. I have 
fourteen sick, two of them dangerously. I have to 
watch closely to keep them from being neglected, send- 
ing out two of the boys every morning to procure 
fresh milk for those in the hospital. There are many 
sick in the regiment. No leave of absence for longer 
than ten hours is granted. I could not send any one 
from here after clothing, but succeeded in getting 
Lieutenant Edwards off from Lynchburg, he having 
been left there with the sick. 



ASLEEP ON POST. 

At the north end of the depot at Manassas Junction 
the platform was extended to a point. From its shape 
this place was known as "The Triangle." There had 

313 



IN BARRACK AND glELD. 

accumulated here a large quantity of boxes and pack- 
ages, shipped to men of different regiments from their 
homes, and a sentinel was posted here to guard them. 
Approaching this post one night on the rounds as offi- 
cer of the day, in discharge of the duty of seeing that 
all sentinels were alert, I found a sort of alcove at one 
side, made by removing some of the freight and piling 
it around, so that the position was protected from the 
wind on three sides. Here I came upon the sentinel, 
seated on a box and leaning against another, comfort- 
ably sleeping. I picked up his rifle, which I found at 
his side leaning against the wall of boxes, and paced 
forward and back on the platform, thinking — think- 
ing how to deal with this poor fellow, who was evi- 
dently only a boy. Asleep on post! What a chance 
to get a reputation as a vigilant officer, a good dis- 
ciplinarian! Upon my word, I didn't think of that. 
I just kicked that boy on the foot, and when I saw 
he was aroused said rather sternly: 'What are you 
doing here?" 

"I was put here to guard this stuff," 

"You're doing it, ain't you? Where's your gun?" 

''Ain't that it you got?" casting a glance at my 
side. 

"You're a pretty sentinel. Do you know the pen- 
alty for going to sleep on post ?" 

"No, sir." 

"Did you never hear the army regulations read 
at company parade?" 

"No, sir." 

"How long have you been a soldier?" 

He answered, naming the time. 
314 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

"Now," I said, "it is perhaps my duty to put you 
under guard for trial by court-martial. If I do not, do 
you think you will keep awake when on post here- 
after?" 

"Yes, sir." 

"Well, take your rifle now, and walk your post. 
Never sit down on sentry duty. If you had kept mov- 
ing, you would not have gone to sleep." I then ex- 
plained to him the gravity of the offense and the pen- 
alty liable to ensue, adding as a caution : "Never say 
anything about this. If I ever hear of it while we are 
both in* the service, or hear of your sleeping on post 
again, I will still prefer charges against you, and 
have you tried by court-martial." 

I think I left him thoroughly alert. My justifica- 
tion to myself for the course I took, however others 
may view it, was that the boy had been put on a duty 
for which he had not been properly instructed, and 
that his company commander, by his negligence, was^a 
sharer in his fault. 



A COURT-MARTIAL. 

A GENERAL court-martial was assembled at Manassas 
for the trial of such cases as should be brought before 
it. It was with much trepidation that I received an 
order assigning me to the duties of Judge Advocate 
for this court. I had so little experience in the prac- 
tice of law, upon which I had just entered when called 
to arms, that I had not acquired the confidence which 
the successful attorney brings to the bar, and my 

315 



IN BARRACK AND. FIELD. 

knowledge of the rules of evidence was only theoretic. 
Fortunately, I obtained a work on "Courts-Martial,*' 
and by diligent study got some knowledge of the 
practice and rules of procedure in military courts. 

When the members were assembled for organiza- 
tion, Colonel Boyd, who had been named as president, 
did not appear, and the presidency devolved on Lieu- 
tenant Colonel Young, of the Fourth North Carolina, 
the next in rank. Among the members were eight 
lawyers, several of whom had already achieved suc- 
cess and distinction in the practice of the civic courts. 
It may well be supposed that a knowledge of this fact 
increased my already painful diffidence. But as the 
business of the court proceeded, and I found that all 
looked to me for the initiatory steps at every point, I 
was much relieved. I discovered that not one of my 
able confreres had made a study of military law, or 
of practice under it, but I, on the other hand, was 
much assisted by their suggestions on the rules of 
evidence. 

My regiment moved to Occoquan while I was on this 
duty, but did not leave me wholly desolate. Almost 
every day invitations to dine came to me, and I often 
enjoyed a "feast of reason and a flow of soul" at the 
hospitable mess table of the officers of the Fourth 
North Carolina. I had here some Georgia friends 
also, with whom I sometimes foregathered at grub 
time and lingered to talk over the brighter past days 
or to discuss the prospects of the war. 

Among those who helped me to banish the sense of 
loneliness was a young Alabamian, Mr. Wiley Fuller, 
whom I had met at CarroUton while he was a stu- 

316 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



dent there. I was much indebted to him for assist- 
ance in copying the court proceedings. These were 
in some cases vokmiinous. Not only the charges and 
specifications in each case must be written out, but 
every question and answer of the testimony must be 
set forth, in order that the reviewing officer may know 
upon what the findings of the court are based. 

One case, some of the details of which linger in my 
memory, gave the court and me a great deal of trou- 
ble. There had been a little row in an artillery com- 
pany, in which the captain had met with some indig- 
nity that so exasperated him that he preferred charges 
of mutiny against one of his sergeants. He was him- 
self a witness in the case, and the infinite detail into 
which he entered in giving his testimony, and the 
verbose phraseology with which he lengthened it out, 
would have charmed a stenographer paid by the hun- 
dred words. I remember that I half suspected, per- 
haps from the Captain's manner, or possibly from 
facts disclosed by other witnesses, that he was afraid 
of his sergeant, and would like to have him shot. I 
had great difficulty in bringing out all of the circum- 
stances of the case, some of the witnesses being very 
reluctant to testify. It appeared that the sergeant 
and those who acted with him had indeed been guilty 
of insubordination, but there were mitigating circum- 
stances. The method of discipline used in the com- 
pany had not been that which has been wont to convert 
the American recruit or volunteer into a veteran. It 
was, rather, like that of the old-time boatswain, who 
drove to their labor his crew of coolies on a Mississippi 
steamer. The prisoner was adjudged guilty of a low- 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

er grade of offense than that charged, and sentenced 
to wear a ball and chain six months. 

It was gratifying to me, as well as to Lieutenant 
Colonel Young, the president, and to the several mem- 
bers of the court, that the findings in every case tried 
were approved by the reviewing officer. 

It might well be supposed that the labors in con- 
nection with the court-martial would have so engaged 
me as to shut out all care about my company. The 
following extract from a letter written a iew days 
before the departure of my regiment shows that the 
work did not altogether relieve my anxieties : 

Camp Pickens, Manassas Junction, 
November 23, 1861. 

My Dear Friend: By employing a friend to do a 
good deal of copying for me, I have secured leisure to 
write to you. I am just now in a mess of trouble 
with the sickness in my company. The men are tak- 
ing pneumonia, and it seems that all are going to have 
it. One, who was previously diseased, died after an 
illness of only a day and a half. We have several very 
critical cases now of men who day before yesterda}' 
were well and hearty. I can't do anything for them 
except to see that such means as we have for their 
comfort are applied, and that the directions of the 
surgeons are carried out, until they are sent off to 
the general hospital, out of my reach. Being on this 
court, I have little leisure to visit the hospitals, so that 
duty devolves on Lieutenant Edwards. Had the men 
been provided with overcoats, as we were assured 
they would be, two weeks or a month ago, it is prob- 
able that the most of this sickness would have been 
averted. 

It is morning, with a little sleet and rain — a bad 

318 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

prospect for the poor soldier. ... I feel like I 
would rather risk the dangers of a great battle, and 
have done with it, than to lie here and see our men 
suffering under the ravages of disease. I think it not 
improbable that we shall lose more men during the 
first two winter months by disease than a victory would 
cost us if the enemy would attack us here. Hence it 
is not at all unreasonable to wish such an attack to be 
made ; for who would not rather "give away his 
breath" on the field of battle than gasp it out on a 
wretched bed of straw? 

There was at one time, while the regiment lay 
near Manassas, so much sickness that one of the lar- 
gest companies — that of Capt. C. W. Mabry, from 
Heard County, Ga. — had only fifteen men for duty. 



AT OCCOQUAN. 

My duties at Manassas being at last concluded, I 
rejoined my regiment, which had been attached to 
Gen. Wade Hampton's Brigade, and was encamped 
near Occoquan. Here, looking across the broad bosom 
of the Potomac, one could see the enemy's sloops and 
boats lying close under the opposite shore, and the 
tents of a land force in the background beyond. Oc- 
casionally the boom of guns came to us from above 
or below the mouth of the Occoquan. At the head of 
deep water in the estuary of this stream earthworks 
were constructed, designed to resist any force attempt- 
ing to cross from the opposite side of the creek or to 
land from boats coming up from the Potomac. A 
strong picket was posted here, another, of two compa- 
nies, at the village a mile or two above, and a smaller 



IN BARRACK AND FJELD. 

one at a ford still farther up the creek. Here, as at 
every other point on the line of the Army of Northern 
Virginia, we were prepared to meet the foe whenever 
he might attack. 

But not the half of December had gone when the 
idea of a general engagement this winter was aban- 
doned. We now began seriously to prepare for win- 
ter. The first step was the selection of a new site for 
encampment, to which we moved, and which was 
christened ''Camp Johnson." The Georgians were now 
provided with overcoats supplied by the State. They 
were of light material, about one-fourth wool and 
three-fourths cotton, but very serviceable. There was 
still much sickness, but with the advantages of a per- 
manent camp and sufficient clothing improvement was 
rapid. 

I find in a letter of January 8, 1862, a reference 
to weather conditions, followed by a brief account of 
efforts to make my quarters comfortable: 

It is raining. There was a snow last week, and it 
is on the ground yet, thawing every day and freezing 
at night. 

I have very comfortable quarters, made by digging 
away the earth and fitting a tent into the side of the 
hill, a good fireplace cut out of the hard clay, the flue 
running back two and a half or three feet underground 
and connecting with a stick and dirt chimney. So. 
you perceive, I have an underground apartment. I 
try to keep employed. Have worked a good deal late- 
ly fixing up my tents. You would have laughed to 
see me down on my back digging out the flue with a 
bayonet. 

We have had fun snowballing and sliding down- 
hill on planks since it snowed. Some of the boys go 

320 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

skating on a neighboring mill pond. Unfortunately, 
one poor fellow broke through the other day and was 
drowned. 

At night we sat around the fires and swapped sto- 
ries. More than once a merry group was suddenly 
half suffocated by smoke which, meeting some ob- 
stacle in its usual exit, was turned back into the tent. 
"That's Perkins, confound him," some would ex- 
claim. Then a rush for the outer air. Nothing could 
be seen of Perkins, but a corn sack would be found 
spread over the top of the chimney. 

Often we discussed the probabilities of the enemy's 
next move and our own, not forgetting that we were 
too far removed, in rank as well as location, from 
the head of the army to know really anything about it. 
Once or twice the tedium of camp life was relieved 
by a ball, for which we were indebted to the ladies 
of the vicinity. The boys from the cities and towns 
doubtless excelled in grace of movement to the strains 
of the spirit-stirring violin, but we of the country 
prided ourselves on jumping as high and swinging 
partners as sturdily as any of them. 

Lieut. Col. Thomas J. Johnson had succeeded W. 
W. Boyd as Colonel, the latter having resigned on ac- 
count of disability caused by rheumatism. The Colo- 
nel did not distress us with too much drilling, but 
kept the regiment up to a fair degree of efficiency, and 
was popular with officers and men. 

During the entire winter we had but two little spurts 
of excitement. One night Lieutenant Seavy, leading 
a scouting party, crossed Occoquan Creek at a ford 

21 321 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

above the village, proceeded to within a mile of the 
Federal lines, and placed his men in ambush near a 
road leading out from the enemy's picket post oppo- 
site the village. As he had calculated, the Federals 
returning to camp from this post between dawn and 
sunrise fell into the trap. The little party of Confed- 
erates delivered their fire at short range with deadly 
effect. They were too near the Yankee lines to risk 
more than a round or two, nor did they tarry to 
ascertain the losses of the foe or to make captures. 
At a preconcerted signal they sprang from their con- 
cealment and quickly disappeared in the direction 
from which they had come, followed by a few parting 
shots from the astonished foe. 

One day, being at the village, I received an urgent 
summons to report at camp. The messenger could 
not inform me definitely of the cause. There were 
rumors that the enemy was about to land from the 
Potomac, or had landed in force, and the regiment 
was ordered out to aid in repelling him. Making my 
way to camp in all haste, I found that the regiment 
had already gone. With a few men who also had 
been absent, I followed. I was much relieved on 
coming up with the command to find that there had 
been no occasion for my services. There had been no 
landing of the enemy, and I had been in my place but 
a few minutes when we were ordered back to camp. 

322 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



THE SITUATION. 



Battle is not the only, nor even the highest, test of 
courage. The dull routine of camp life, the absence 
of loved ones when the heart aches for the joys of 
domestic peace, with the prospect of reunion too re- 
mote for faith; to look upon the faces of comrades 
dying of disease, to drag the weary feet on hopeless 
marches through night and rain and mud, while one 
disaster after another to our country's arms appalls the 
ear — these are the things that try the souls of men, 
things which only men of the highest courage can en- 
dure without demoralization ; and these only, with a 
resolution that laughs at obstacles, hope on while yet 
a chance remains to snatch victory from despair. 

Therefore it is that I put down in these reminis- 
censes many things which, though of no special im- 
portance in themselves, will, I hope, give a clearer 
view of phases of soldier life in times of war that 
historians usually consider but lightly. 

When the time came for the expiration of the pe- 
riod of service of the short term regiments, the sub- 
ject of their reenlistment was one of grave concern 
to the government and the army. The following ex- 
tract from a letter of February 12, 1862, shows the 
prevalent view of our thoughtful men about it : 

The present aspect of the war is rather discour- 
aging, but it is hoped that it will arouse the spirit of 
those men who have heretofore been watching the 
progress of events from home, and induce them to 
come forward and fill the ranks. I don't think the 
people generally have yet learned the importance of 
encouraging enlistments for the war. Had the six 

323 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

and twelve months' men all volunteered for the war, 
we should now have before us the prospect of a bril- 
liant campaign in the spring; whereas, unless the 
places of those who are now being rapidly discharged 
can be filled before the sun dries up the mud and 
the roads become practicable for military operations, 
it is not at all improbable that the Army of Northern 
Virginia will have to abandon its position, and so lose 
all advantage gained at the cost of so much blood on 
the plains of Manassas, and so many valuable lives 
sacrificed by exposure in holding the position through 
the winter. 

It appears that the twelve months' men here are 
generally reenlisting; but on a visit to the Seventh 
Georgia the other day I found that most of them, 
while they propose to reenlist in a short time, are disin- 
clined to do so under the terms of the furlough law. 

I trust, however, that the current of reenlistments 
will reach them before the expiration of their term 
of service, or that public opinion will move them to 
return upon the expiration of the thirty days which 
the law would give if they enlisted now. 



A GRIEVOUS TEMPTATION, A PLEASANT 
EPISODE, AND A DISAPPOINTMENT. 

About this time an order was promulgated pro- 
viding for the detail of an officer from each com- 
pany for recruiting service at home. The captains 
were offered the privilege of taking this service. It 
was to me a sore, a grievous temptation. But Lieu- 
tenant Edwards's wife was sick. He was expecting a 
recruit in his family. T could not urge my claims; 
but it hurt, way down deep! 

324 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Edwards was a good fellow, and never received a 
favor that he did not deserve. Brave? Yes, and 
lucky too. He went through thirteen battles without a 
scratch, and came home and was sent to the Legisla- 
ture. 

The letter of February 12, before quoted, has also 
this, which illustrates the spirit of our Southern wom- 
en : "I received a welcome present to-day from one of 
my cousins at Cartersville. It was a box containing 
a piece of black cassimere large enough for a blanket, 
two blouses or overshirts, four pairs of gloves, and 
twelve pairs of socks, for the men and me. The gen- 
erous donor of these useful articles is Mrs. John Er- 
win, who is a daughter of Noble P. Beall, of Carters- 
ville." 

This was one of the pleasing episodes of camp life, 
bringing to us far more than the value of the articles 
contributed, in the inspiring assurance that we were 
remembered by tender and sympathetic ones at home. 
And this brings to mind a less agreeable episode. My 
mother and sister had made for me a suit of jeans. 
They had selected for it the finest of lamb's wool, and 
with their own dear hands carded and spun every 
thread of it. And they had woven it in the old hand 
loom, behind whose harness when a boy I sat hand- 
ing threads many an hour when I knew the fish would 
bite right along. A tailor, who had my measure, had 
cut it, and the loving ones, with skill equal to that 
of the matron of Burns's "Cotter's Saturday Night," 
had made it. Its color was gray and its texture su- 
perior to that of cadet cloth. It was intrusted to one 
of my boys, who chanced to be at home on furlough, 

325 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

for conveyance to me. Alas ! he slept in a warehouse 
at Richmond, in which floor room was allowed way- 
faring soldiers for repose. While sleep was busy knit- 
ting "up the raveled edge of care," the carpetbag 
containing my suit was removed by some fellow that 
wanted it. Sic transit gloriu mundi. Thus passed m}- 
gaudy anticipations of being the observed of all ob- 
servers at dress parade in my new uniform. 

We prepare our minds to endure stoically great 
troubles, but who among us is proof against the pen- 
etrating shafts of petty vexations ? 

So I wrote home : 

I have long since determined not to be discour- 
aged by any reverses to our arms ; but I wasn't at all 
prepared for the loss of the suit so long expected and 
which cost the dear ones at home so much labor and 
pains. This upsets my philosophy, and I think of 
writing a treatise that shall infallibly convince rogues 
throughout the habitable globe that they really ought 
not to steal. 

The war will be prolonged by our recent reverses ; 
but we'll not despair as long as we can keep a third of 
our fighting men in the field, though we lose all our 
cities. There were many darker hours in the days of 
the Revolution than we have yet seen. 



BACK TO THE LINE OF THE RAPPA- 
HANNOCK. 

On the 7th of March Whiting's Division, of which 
Hampton's Brigade was a part, took up the line of 
march for Fredericksburg, where we arrived without 
accident or adventure. The movement of the army 

326 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

from Manassas to the line of the Rappahannock has 
been called, by General Johnston's critics, a retreat. 
In justice to one of the bravest and best of our lead- 
ers, as well as for the sake of the truth of history, 
it should be remembered that the army was with- 
drawn from Manassas in pursuance of a council to 
which General Johnston was called by President Davis 
on the 20th of February. 

The removal of military property from Manassas 
Junction and other points in Northern Virginia was 
ordered on the 22d, and from that date until the 9th 
of March, when the divisions at Centerville and Bull 
Run (the last to retire) were withdrawn, all the means 
of transportation available were energetically em- 
ployed in bringing it away. There is no reason at all 
to doubt that the President sanctioned the move. Be- 
sides, it was necessary to put the army in position to 
meet McClellan, whether he should advance by way 
of the lower Rappahannock or of the Peninsula. 

General Johnston has been charged with the unnec- 
essary destruction of army stores. One scribbler, 
whose venomous diatribe was given to the public 
anonymously, says: "He burned eleven miles of bag- 
gage (valuable beyond computation) when he re- 
treated from Manassas." 

The facts as given in ''Johnston's Narrative" are 
his sufficient defense. No unprejudiced person 
knowing these facts can attach to him an iota of blame 

My veneration for the name of Gen. Joseph E 
Johnston, both as a leader of the armies of the Con 
federacy and as a man who had in his person all th« 
elements of true greatness, prompts me to reproduce 

327 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

here, in part, an editorial written for my paper when 
such unjust and injurious aspersions on his fair fame 
were first brought to my notice : 

What are the facts? The following extract from 
a letter of Col. R. G. Cole, Chief Commissary of the 
Army, written to General Johnston February 7, 1871, 
^will throw some light on the question : 

''By your direction I requested the Commissary 
General to increase the supply of provisions to an 
amount sufficient for fifteen days' rations for the 
army. In a short time I discovered that the accumu- 
lation was too large, and reported the fact to you, 
and by your direction I telegraphed, on the 4th of 
January, 1862, to the Commissary General that you 
desired all stores sent from Richmond stopped at Cul- 
peper C. H. At this place I had, by your orders, 
established a reserve depot. Supplies continued to 
come from Richmond, Lynchburg, Staunton, and 
Fredericksburg. I requested the Commissary Gen- 
eral by telegraph on the i6th of January to have the 
shipments to Manassas stopped. On the 29th I re- 
peated the request, indicating that the amount at 
Manassas was nearly double that required." 

It will be observed that as early as January 4 the 
Commissary General was informed that General John- 
ston desired the shipment of supplies to Manassas 
stopped; that no attention was paid to this request 
until it had been repeated on the i6th and 29th, when 
the amount of supplies had been doubled by the con- 
tinuous shipments in spite of General Johnston's re- 
quest. But this is not all. The government had not 
only thus incumbered the army with a million and a 
half pounds of supplies which it did not need, for 
which there was not sufficient storage, and to guard 
which added heavily to the burdens of the rank and 
file and largely reduced the effective strength for op- 

328 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

posing the enemy; but it had also estabhshed, without 
consulting the general commanding, a depot for meat- 
curing at Thoroughfare Gap, and had accumulated 
there about two million pounds of meat. General 
Johnston was in no degree responsible for the accu- 
mulation of this immense surplus on a frontier line. It 
was done against his views repeatedly expressed and 
as often disregarded. It is a part of history that as 
early as before the middle of February the govern- 
ment began to contemplate a retrograde movement. 
On the 22d of February General Johnston issued or- 
ders for the removal of the military stores, and the 
work was carried on, with all the means of transporta- 
tion available to the chief of the Commissary and 
Quartermaster's Departments of the army, until the 
8th of March. All the supplies that should have been 
at the front, and more than half of the large surplus 
which, if General Johnston had been consulted, would 
never have been there, were brought away, while about 
one-third of the abandoned stores was already dam- 
aged and unfit for use. The idea of Joe Johnston 
abandoning or destroying unnecessarily anything of 
value belonging to the government is simply an ab- 
surdity. No general ever led an army who exer- 
cised more care or evinced more skill in saving pubHc 
property than he has throughout his entire military 
career. 

The statement that General Johnston demoralized 
the army on the retreat from Dalton needs no refuta- 
tion. There are perhaps yet more than 10,000 sur- 
vivors of that army who are ready to testify that the 
morale of the army improved from the time Johnston 
took command until he was relieved ; that the order 
relieving him was a heavier blow and had a more 
demoralizing effect on the soldiers than a lost battle 
would have had with Joe Johnston still in command. 
That they were in perfect fighting trim, ready to meet 
the foe whenever their beloved commander gave the 

329 



IN BARRACK ANE^ FIELD. 

signal, the battles they had fought against such over- 
whelming odds under his leadership are silent but 
unimpeachable witnesses. 

Hampton's Brigade remained at Fredericksburg 
until about April lo. Advantage was taken of our 
rest here to exercise the men in all the movements 
known to infantry tactics. The officers who had been 
sent home on recruiting service rejoined here. They 
had been so successful that our force was increased by 
about twenty-five per cent. On or about the loth our 
division, now under Gen. G. \V. Smith, was ordered 
to "Move toward Richmond," leaving a mixed force 
equal to a brigade in front of Fredericksburg. 

On the morning of departure a supply of hard-tack 
was issued. That served to Company H (I do not 
know whether others were more fortunate) proved 
worthless. The regiment was already aligned in 
marching order when the hard-tack was delivered, 
and, being in barrels, its worthless character was not 
discovered until it was too late to have it exchanged 
for good bread. To leave the ranks while passing 
through the city was prohibited by general orders. 
The thought of marching all day without bread and 
with no prospect of getting any at night was discour- 
aging. 

As we marched toward the city I called Lieutenant 
Neely aside and instructed him to take two men, pro- 
ceed to a bakery or other place where it could be 
obtained, buy as much bread as they could carry, 
and bring it on to camp. Having provided him with 
Confederate scrip, I gave him a written order, for 

330 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

his protection in the event of any trouble arising un- 
der the general order in regard to leaving the ranks. 

We had entered upon a harder march than we had 
yet taken. During the day we crossed a little run, 
which, flushed by a recent heavy rain, spread over 
the bordering lowlands to the width of several hun- 
dred yards, concealing ditches the existence of which 
one would discover by sinking up to his hips in the 

water. 

We halted at night in a wood, fortunate in finding 
abundance of fuel, and our bivouac was in a short 
time enlivened by blazing fires. Some time after 
dark Lieutenant Neely and his two men came in with 
a supply of bread. The men would have consumed it 
all, without overeating, but I thought it better to di- 
vide it and keep a portion for breakfast. It turned 
out to have been a happy thought, for we got none 
from the commissary next morning. There had been 
some mistake or mismanagement, I know not whose 
the fault. I again reported the rationless state of my 
company to Colonel Johnson, who assured me that 
when we should overtake the wagon train we should 
be supplied. 

On this second day's march one of my boys, who 
I think had been recently sick, sat down by the way 
and declared himself unable to proceed. His rifle 
and accouterments were taken forward and put into 
the company wagon, and we left him to follow on 
after resting. A few miles farther on another man 
required similar assistance, but we were then near the 
wagon train. We marched by it, momentarily ex- 
pecting to halt for the purpose of supplying our haver- 

331 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

sacks with hard-tack ; but, much to our disappointment 
and indignation, there was no halt. Late in the even- 
ing it rained, and when we went into bivouac, a Httle 
before twihght, I found myself very tired and suffer- 
ing with a severe headache. I sat down against a 
large pine tree and fell asleep. One of the boys, full 
of kindly sympathy, went off to see if he could get 
lodging for me at a neighboring residence. When 
he returned and aroused me to tell of his success, I 
discovered that water dripping from the tree had fall- 
en inside the back of my collar, and my neck was 
quite stiff. My friend conducted me at once to a 
residence about a quarter of a mile from the bivouac. 
On arriving there the host, much to my dismay, could 
only express his regret that, if he had promised, he 
had forgotten the name, and others had come in until 
the house was full to its utmost capacity. He could, 
however, give me a cup of coffee. I entered a large 
room, which was already occupied by perhaps a dozen 
young officers, who were sitting about an ample fire- 
place where a big log fire was ablaze. Lieutenant 
John Keely, an officer whose deportment was ever 
marked by a most gentle courtesy, made room for me 
in a corner at one side of the fireplace, near a bed. 
I was now quite sick and yielded to the temptation to 
extend myself on the side of this bed and rest my 
head on the inviting pillow. Verv^ soon, soothed by 
the genial warmth, I slept. It seemed but a brief 
space of time until some one, giving me a gentle 
shake, said: "Get up. Captain. Come and have sup- 
per." Rising, I saw that a tempting repast, smoking 
hot, was ready on a table set out in the center of the 

332 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

apartment. It must have been by a mutual under- 
standing among the young men that a seat at the 
"first table" was provided for me. I was gratified by 
their generous attention. It touches my heart as I 
recall it now. "The bravest are the tenderest." 

I partook lightly of the supper, and resumed my 
recumbent posture on the side of the bed, expecting 
to vacate when our host should get ready to assign 
beds to his guests. I slept again. When I awoke 
morning had dawned. 

I suppose this good Virginian sheltered that night 
at least a hundred men, most of them in a tobacco 
house, which the boys said was a very comfortable 
place. 



ON TO YORKTOWN. 

Nothing of unusual interest occurred until the 
division reached Ashland, as many men as cars could 
be provided for having made the last stage of the 
journey by rail. Here the command halted to await 
orders. The brief rest at this place is remembered 
chiefly on account of the distress resulting from the 
development of measles among the recruits. In a 
few days we were on the way to Yorktown. 

A notable feature of this long, weary tramp was 
the disappearance of a number of the officers of our 
regiment from the line. Some were on leave, others 
(doubtless on the surgeon's order) obtained seats in 
ambulances, and one took the saddle. Fortunately, 
I was able to foot it with the men, partly by reason 

333 



IN BARRACK AND 'FIELD. 

of my light weight — a hundred and twenty pounds. 
My feet troubled me very much, and I found it a great 
relief, when I could get some distance in advance, to 
sit down and bathe them in a branch or pool of water 
until the company would come up. But for this I 
should probably have been compelled, in the later 
stages of the march, to follow the example of some of 
my brother officers in seeking some other means of 
locomotion. We soon became so accustomed to the 
ordinary hardships and inconveniences of the march 
and bivouac that they were not noted. 

One day we had started out with haversacks un- 
comfortably flat, and two men were sent off the route 
to try to buy something with which to replenish them. 
They rejoined us on the road, coming from different 
directions, one bringing half a dozen pones of beau- 
tiful white corn bread, the other a side of ribs, the 
appearance of which did not clearly show whether 
they had been dried in the sun, barbecued, or baked. 
They had evidently belonged originally to a very large 
sheep. While the bread was being distributed, as 
we stood in the road, I tore those ribs apart and 
handed them out to the boys, reserving one for my- 
self. I have never eaten meat more agreeable to the 
taste than was that. 

At Yorktown Smith's Division was placed in re- 
serve, so we did not get on the fighting line. How- 
ever, we furnished details for a picket at the village, 
and shots from one of the Federal batteries fell into 
our camp. 

Our picket post was under a bank on the shore of 
the bay, and screened from the Federal gunboats by 

334 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

a projection or point of land upon which trees were 
growing. When one of those enormous shells would 
sweep along close to the shore, shrieking like a thou- 
sand demons, it made one feel like hugging the bank 
closely, though assured that the deadly missile had 
already passed several feet above and in front of our 
post. 

We had the opportunity while here to exercise the 
men in company drill. Men lying idle in camp soon 
lose the power to endure the fatigues of a forced 
march. 

One day I traced for some distance a ditch sup- 
posed to have been dug during the colonial war of 
secession, either by the British in defending or by 
Washington's men in prosecuting the siege of York- 
town. 

On the 3d of May the army was ordered to with- 
drawn from Yorktown. The reason for this move- 
ment is well understood. While Magruder had 
done well in delaying McClellan here by presenting a 
formidable front, it was evident that if the latter 
found he could not break through our line he could, 
with his superior guns, destroy our batteries at York- 
town and Gloucester Point, run up York River, and 
gain our rear. 

Smith's Division began to move at midnight. The 
explosion of shells among the stores at Yorktown that 
could not be brought away sounded like a battle. 

While the Nineteenth was standing in marching 
order, waiting to take its place in the column, I no- 
ticed a group of men around a fire on the site of the 
camp we had just left. Approaching them, I was 

335 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

cheerily greeted by one whom I had long known as 
one of the most promising youths of my native county, 
and whom I now knew as a soldier always ready when 
duty called — one of the Kingsbury brothers. 

He immediately offered me a cup of coffee, which 
perhaps, of all things, I most needed to fit me for the 
night march before us, for I was already weary. It 
is pleasant to recall courtesies like that — flowers 
springing up in desert places. 

The whole army, except a rear guard of cavalry, 
was concentrated at Williamsburg about noon next 
day. Magruder's Division was sent forward in the 
evening, and Smith's, which was to follow at two 
o'clock in the morning, moved a short distance out on 
the New Kent road and halted. Late in the evening 
the roar of battle was heard beyond the old town. 
It was McLaws's, Kershaw's, and Semmes's Brigades, 
which had met the enemy, pressing back our rear 
guard of cavalry, beyond Fort Magruder, on the 
Yorktown road. The FedQtal forces were driven 
back, losing a field gun. 

The men of Hampton's Brigade, when night came 
on, threw themselves on the ground, thinking only 
of rest, and were quickly asleep. It seemed to me 
that I had just closed my eyes when an order to fall 
in was passed along, arousing the slumbering ranks. 
The brigade moved back toward the town, filed to the 
left, advanced about a quarter of a mile into the 
woods, and was drawn up in line of battle facing York 
River. I suppose the object was to be ready to meet 
any Federals that might come from the nearest land- 
ing, which was six miles away. After standing here 

336 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

in line an hour or two, the enemy not appearing, we 
returned to our bivouac on the road. 

At daybreak we moved on, following the New Kent 
road. It was raining, and the deep mud made the 
marching hard. I drank of the water that stood be- 
tween the ridges left in an old field by the last plow- 
ing, and found it refreshing. We bivouacked at Bar- 
hamville. Luckily our commissary train was conven- 
ient to us here, else we should have fared badly. I 
bought a ham and some flour, and enjoyed my first ex- 
perience of cooking bread on a ramrod. The product of 
this first experiment was somewhat tough, owing to the 
want of "rizin';" but, with a piece of fat ham broiled 
on oak coals, it was not bad to take for one who 
had marched fifteen miles through rain and mud with- 
out dining, after having breakfasted before day. 



ENGAGEMENT AT ELTHAM'S LANDING. 

Next day intelligence was received that the Fed- 
erals were landing in force at Eltham's, and it was 
known on the morning of the 6th that they occupied 
a dense wood on the right of the New Kent road. 
General Smith was directed to dislodge them, and 
his division was put in motion at an early hour. 
Hood's and Hampton's Brigades, under General Whit- 
ing, leading. Before arriving at the point of attack 
the Nineteenth was detached and ordered to take posi- 
tion three hundred yards to the left of the road by 
which the column was advancing, at the edge of a 
large field bordered by the woods in which the enemy 
22 337 



IN BARRACK ANb FIELD. 

had established his lines. Here my company and 
another, under my command, were ordered to advance 
about a hundred and fifty yards into the woods, halt 
there, and deploy as skirmishers. The line was de- 
ployed to cover about one and a half times the front 
of the regiment, the men placed in couples from 
thirty to forty feet apart and instructed to conceal 
themselves as much as possible behind trees and bush- 
es, disregarding, for this purpose, the exact align- 
ment as far as necessary. 

The boom of guns, the roar of small arms, and the 
terrible yells now and then from human throats indi- 
cated hot work in the woods in front of us and not 
very far away. I was sitting by a tree in the rear of the 
line, listening and anxiously trying to determine by 
the sound which way the battle tended — whether to 
the right toward the river, which would indicate the 
triumph of our arms, or to the left, which would 
show the contrary — when suddenly the peculiar ring- 
ing snap made by rifle hammers in bringing them to 
the position of "ready" rang out in the woods. Snap ! 
snap ! snap ! all along the line. Springing to my feet 
and looking to the men, I saw that every one in sight 
had his rifle at "aim." Running forward, I saw 
among the bushes in front a man in blue on his knees, 
his hands raised. As I came nearer others appeared 
beyond him, evidently waiting to see the fate of their 
leader before venturing farther. I ordered the men 
to hold their fire, and invited the gentleman in blue 
to come forward. He did so promptly, followed by 
comrades until sixteen had appeared. Only one of 
them could speak a word of English, and he could 

338 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

scarcely make himself understood. The Federal 
Government was playing the old game of George III. 
There were Hessians still to be hired. I sent the 
wretches on to the rear. I say wretches, for, of all 
contemptible things on earth, that thing in the form 
of man who undertakes for paltry wages to fight for 
the stronger party in a ^yar that does not concern him 
is the most despicable. 

I had resumed my position when, a few minutes 
later, word came along the line of file closers that 
'^Yankees" were approaching in front of our right. 
I ran to the place indicated, arriving in time to re- 
ceive the surrender of another batch of Federal hired 
soldiers. They were sent on after their fellow-hire- 
lings. 

While we waited with some degree of impatience 
for further developments of the day's events, I re- 
ceived an order recalling me. My little command 
was quickly rallied and moved back in quick time to 
the border of the woods, where an orderly met me 
with orders to follow the regiment, which was mov- 
ing along the edge of the field toward the road leading 
to Eltham's Landing. We went after it at double- 
quick, and soon joined it: for, after entering the road, 
its movement had been obstructed by ambulances and 
wagons bringing the wounded from the battlefield. 

The position to which we were now assigned was 
on the right of the road, in the lowland bordering 
the river in an open forest. The enemy was sending^ 
from his gunboats frequent showers of grape, which 
made a disagreeable rattling and crashing over our 
heads among the branches of the trees. 

339 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

While waiting here, being quite thirsty, I went out 
to the front to prospect for water, which fortunately 
I found about a hundred yards from the line where 
a small branch had cut a deep channel through the 
bottom loam. In a short while the men had refreshed 
themselves, filled their canteens, and were gleefully 
joking each other about dodging the grapeshot that 
whistled above us. 

In about two hours and a half from the beginning 
of the attack Hood and Hampton had driven the Fed- 
erals back to the protection of their gunboats. The 
object of the battle was to insure the safe passage of 
our trains. This having been accomplished, the march 
was resumed, Smith's Division following the New 
Kent road. 

A few veterans who yet survive, and who will 
read these recollections of their old comrade, will be 
able to recall the difficulties of a night march in dark- 
ness, through mud about the consistency of brick mor- 
tar, in weariness approaching exhaustion, in utter de- 
spair of keeping in touch with one's own company. 
No description within my power to write would en- 
able any reader who has never gone through such a 
trial to realize it. Mud in the road, where the wag- 
ons and teams had cut it up and mixed it to unknown 
depth ; mud at the sides of the road, where the horses 
of mounted men, seeking for their weary animals an 
easier way, had torn up the wet soil; mud clinging to 
the shoes; mud accumulating on the legs until they 
become a burden difficult to drag along — mud every- 
where. At length we reach the place selected for 
bivouac and hear men crying out the numbers of 

340 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

regiments, as a guide to their position in the line, 
which we find at last, and lie down to forgetfulness — 
in mud. 

The army took a position extending from the Long 
Bridges on the Chickahominy to the York River 
Railroad. Commodore Tatnall having destroyed The 
Virginia, which had proven herself a foe so terrible 
to the wooden ships of the United States Navy, it 
was now possible that McClellan would advance 
against Richmond by James River, as well as by way 
of West Point. To be prepared for this contingency, 
the Confederate forces on the 15th crossed the 
Chickahominy, and on the 17th encamped three miles 
from the Confederate capital, in front of a line of 
redoubts previously constructed. 



SEVEN PINES. 

McClellan had made the mistake of advancing 
his left wing across the Chickahominy, while he held 
his center and left on the other side. General John- 
ston saw the error at once, and began to make his 
dispositions to crush the detached wing, which con- 
sisted of the two corps of Heinzelman and Keyes. 
The tardiness of Huger's division in coming into ac- 
tion saved them from annihilation. For descriptions 
of the battle the reader is referred to Johnston's 
"Narrative," and Long's ''Memoirs of Robert E. Lee." 
I intend to relate here only what came under my ob- 
servation, with the addition of such facts derived from 

341 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

other sources as may be necessary to clearness of 
statement. 

On the evening of May 30 orders were given for 
an attack early next morning, by the divisions of 
Longstreet, D. H. Hill, and Huger, to be led by Hill, 
who was nearest to the point of attack. Late in the 
evening it began to rain heavily, and continued nearly 
all night. It was confidently hoped that the flooding 
of the Chickahominy would prevent the Federals un- 
der Sumner from crossing and coming to the support 
of the two isolated corps. Smith's Division was on 
the nine-mile road, and constituted the left of the 
forces expected to participate in the fight. On the 
morning of the 31st General Johnston, who had 
placed himself with Smith's Division, which was the 
most favorable point for getting the earliest report 
of any reenforcements that might come from beyond 
the Chickahominy, awaited with much impatience the 
sounds of battle. Communicating with Longstreet 
by messenger, he learned that the attack was waiting 
on Huger's Division, which, it seems, was held back 
by a little creek. When at last, about two o'clock. 
Hill advanced and engaged the enemy, the condition 
of the atmosphere was such that the sounds of battle 
did not reach the position of Smith's Division. About 
four o'clock a staff officer, who had been dispatched 
by General Johnston to ascertain the situation, re- 
turned and reported that Hill's and Longstreet's Di- 
visions had been fighting two hours. 

No advance of Federals from the Chickahominy 
having been reported, General Smith's Division was 
now ordered forward to assail the right flank of the 

342 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

force with which Longstreet was engaged. The di- 
vision was at once put in motion, and proceeded at 
double-quick along the nine-mile road. When the 
head of the column reached a point near the York 
River Railroad, it encountered the advance of Sum- 
ner's Corps. The Nineteenth Georgia was ordered to 
the right, and, passing through a dense wood, entered 
a field which the heavy rain of the night before had 
flooded to the depth of several inches, concealing 
ditches and the channel of a branch, into and across 
which we plunged. Entering a road beyond this 
field, the column filed to the left. As we moved along 
this road President Davis and Gen. Robert E. Lee 
were seen observing the column as it passed. Diver- 
ging to the left and following an old roadway, the 
column came out into a large field. As we entered it 
another column of Confederates was seen entering 
from the opposite side. A shell from a battery hid- 
den from us by dense timber on our left exploded 
in their ranks, creating about as much confusion as 
would the blowing off of a hat by a sudden gust of 
wind. Our column, again filing to the left, moved 
across a lagoon and along the edge of a dense wood 
that screened us from the enemy's view. Arriving at 
a point opposite the position to be attacked, the regi- 
ment faced to the left and advanced in line a short 
distance into the wood, halting in rear of a line that 
had preceded it. While we stood here a Mississippi 
regiment moving by the right flank came up and 
halted a few paces in the rear and opposite my compa- 
ny. A captain at the head of the column cried out: 
"Why in the hell don't you take that battery?" Colonel 

343 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Johnson, who sat on his horse close by, looked around 
and said quietly: "We have a general here to com- 
mand us, sir." "Well," responded the valorous cap- 
tain, "let us through there, and we'll take it." I 
opened a gap in the line of my company and, saluting 
the captain, pointed to it with my sword. But either 
the quiet sarcasm of Colonel Johnson or the gibes of 
the men, following the initiative of Lieut. J. A. Rich- 
ardson, of Company C, had cooled the captain's en- 
thusiasm, or, it may be, a moment's reflection had 
restored his sense of military propriety. At all events 
he did not avail himself of the opening made for him 
to pass through our line. 

After a short delay the two lines moved forward 
with an interval of thirty or forty yards between 
them. As we advanced I came upon two men (not 
of the Nineteenth) who stood threatening with their 
bayonets a Federal soldier who, lying on his back be- 
tween two intersecting branches of a huge oak log, 
was begging for his life. Ordering the men forward, 
I called a sergeant and put the prisoner, who did not 
appear to have been severely wounded, if at all, in 
his charge. 

As our lines pressed forward the right entered a 
field, along the edge of which was a road leading in a 
direction about thirty degrees to the left of 'our ob- 
jective point. There was a slightly upward incline 
from the woods some distance into the field. Rush- 
ing forward, the Nineteenth came suddenly upon the 
regiment which preceded it, lying down. The Nine- 
teenth, without orders as far as I heard, followed its 
example, and the two lines became one. The position 

344 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was just at the apex of the incline before mentioned, 
and was such that by hugging the ground closely the 
enemy's fire was avoided. 

The firing, which had for some time been very heavy 
on our left, where other forces of Hampton's Brigade 
were engaged, was now heavy all along the line. My 
first care was to look to my own men. Just on my left 
was the road, and beyond it dense woods. In the 
road was planted the standard of the regiment with, 
whose men ours were mingled, the color bearer lying 
with cheek against the mud three feet below the pos- 
sible range of any shot from the front. I saw one 
of my boys (John Roberts, a South Carolinian) put 
his rifle up at one side of the flagstaff to aim, and, 
the position not suiting him, draw if back and put it 
on the other side and fire. Here was coolness for 
you ! I noticed that the earth at the crest of the slope 
opposite the flag was frequently thrown up by bullets. 
The flag had evidently become a special target. I 
therefore directed Roberts and other men who were 
near it to change their positions. 

I saw more than one man, lying on his back, raise 
his piece to an angle of about forty-five degrees and 
fire without aim. To touch him with the point of a 
sword and call attention to his folly was usually 
enough to put such a man to a better use of his 
ammunition. 

These observations were made in perhaps less than 
one-fifth of the time that it takes to recite them. I 
knew no reason for the halt here. Though nearly 
half the Nineteenth was in the open field, and more 
than half of the other regiment, neither field nor staflf 

345 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

officer was visible. While waiting and constantly ex- 
pecting an order to advance, I studied the enemy's 
position; but the condition of the air was such that 
the smoke of the battle settled low over the field, and 
I could see only the blaze of guns and the flash of 
rifles. There was a sudden cessation of the firing 
near me. Looking around, I was startled by what I 
saw. My boys had their eyes turned upon me with 
looks of expectation. I looked out where the line had 
been. It was gone. The flag that but now had stood 
near me had disappeared. It made me feel lonesome. 
Never had I been in the least inclined to follow up 
people who showed a disposition to avoid my society, 
but I at once determined to follow these who had so 
unceremoniously left me here. I waved my hand to- 
ward the rear, as a signal to retreat. The boys had 
never seen that signal before, but they read it instant- 
ly, and stood not upon the order of their going. A 
man near me as he turned to the rear fell forward 
on his hands. I thought he was shot, but he quickly 
sprang up and followed his comrades. I picked up a 
rifle where he had fallen, but when I came up with 
him afterwards I found it was not his. As I entered 
the wood, Lieutenant Neely was walking before me. 
We had advanced a few yards when, looking back at 
me, he said: ''Captain, I'm hit." To my anxious in- 
quiry as to where he was struck, he replied: "In the 
right shoulder." Examining the place indicated, I 
saw what appeared to be a bullet hole near the shoul- 
der blade. A closer inspection showed that the shot 
had not gone through the cloth, but had left in it as 

346 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

perfect a matrix of a Minie ball as one could make 
in wax. 

The retreating Confederates, having gotten within 
the shelter of the wood, had relaxed their pace, and 
I came up with them. There were perhaps two hun- 
dred men in sight. I gave the command: "Halt!" 
Most of the men looked back; but seeing no field 
officer, they moved on. All of my own men within 
hearing responded promptly to the order. I re-formed 
the company. Private Thomas Merrell, of Company 
F, falling in with us. Lieutenant Edwards and five 
men were missing. 

We moved by the right across the wood, and then 
diagonally across the field along the edge of which 
we had approached the point of attack, thus keeping 
out of the line of the enemy's artillery fire. About 
the middle of the field we met a regiment advancing 
in line. Some men of this regiment, as our little 
company approached, cried: ''Run over them, run 
over them." Without noticing this gibe, we passed 
by their left flank and about a hundred yards farther 
on fell in with a part of our own regiment: Company 
A, Capt. F. M. Johnson; Company C, First Lieuten- 
ant William H. Johnson ; and some officers of Com- 
pany B. I was immediately called to a consultation 
with the officers present. Being requested to express 
my opinion as to what move the detachment should 
make, I proposed to follow and unite with the regi- 
ment that had just gone forward. This meeting a 
decided negative, I then suggested that we move into 
the wood on the opposite side of the field, where we 
would probably find the other remnants of our regi- 

347 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ment. This was at once accepted. Captain Johnson 
was the senior officer present, and should have as- 
sumed command, but he gave no orders except to 
face to the left and march. This put me at the head 
of the little column, and I led it along the depression 
at the bottom of which was the lagoon we had waded 
earlier in the evening, and just beyond which was the 
wood in which we expected to find our comrades. 

As we proceeded I perceived that Captain Johnson 
was diverging to the left. Changing my course to 
correspond to his, I had reached a point well up on 
the hill to the left of the lagoon when Adjutant Gen- 
eral Barker galloped up and, in manner showing great 
excitement, asked: Where are you going?" 

"We are going," I replied, "to join our regiment, if 
we can find it." 

"There's where the fighting is," he exclaimed trag- 
ically, pointing with his sword in the direction in 
which the noise of continuing battle was heard. "Go 
there. My God! the legion is being cut to pieces! 
Will nobody go to its aid?" 

I then informed him that Captain Johnson, and not 
I, was the senior officer of our detachment, whereupon 
he dashed away to Captain Johnson. After an evi- 
dently exciting colloquy with him, he rode back and 
directed me to take command of the detachment and 
take it into the fight. 

I knew that this was folly. Later on in the war 
no general would have thought of sending fragments 
of regiments picked up here and there, or even a 
whole regiment, back to a field where entire brigades 
had been shattered. The legion should have been 

348 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

withdrawn when our lines were broken in the first 
assault, and because of lack of experience, not through 
want of courage in the field and staff officers, fell 
back in confusion, there being no reserve within sup- 
porting distance. With the entire force reorganized 
there might have been success in a second assault. 
To hurl fragments of regiments, without community 
of command or concert of movement, against a foe 
well-organized, trained, and in a good position, is 
somewhat like a hunter, his rifle broken, attacking 
a grizzly with pebbles. 

But I am a soldier, and the first duty of a soldier 
is to obey orders. Therefore, giving the command 
"File right," I marched down the hill to the lagoon, 
and was crossing it when men toward the rear of 
the column began to cry: ''Captain, the order is to 
fall back." "Whose order?" I asked. They were 
silent. "My orders are to go forward, and I shall 
obey them." Lieutenant Johnson, commanding Com- 
pany C, had halted, doubtless expecting me to order a 
countermarch. The young and gallant Lieut. J. A. 
Richardson, of the same company, approached me 
at this point and asked me if I was going on. Upon 
receiving an affirmative answer he exclaimed enthu- 
siastically: "Then I am with you." Lieutenant John- 
son as gallantly responded, "So am I," in tones audi- 
ble to all his men. So we pressed forward. 

Many stragglers going to the rear had passed us 
already; but when we had passed the pond and were 
approaching the wood, there came out from it a 
mass of men, not in haste, not in panic, but without 
pretense of order, sullenly and sorrowfully retiring. 

349 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Their leader, Brigadier General Hatton, had fallen, 
and our own Hampton had been wounded. Under 
these circumstances I did not hesitate to counter- 
march to the crest of the hill from which we had 
advanced. Along a fence that was now pretty well 
torn down I placed my little command, and about a 
hundred and fifty men of other commands who re- 
sponded to my appeals to rally here as a favorable 
place to check the enemy, if he should follow, until 
our forces could be reorganized. Among those who 
fell in with me I recognized our Mississippi captain 
who, earlier in the evening, had so politely requested 
to be informed why we didn't "take that battery." 
We had not been long in this position when I saw, 
far afield, the gallant regiment we had met advancing 
as we retired, now itself retiring. It was a grand 
spectacle — that line of gray, marching in common 
time, perfectly aligned — a line of blue following with- 
in fair rifle range, firing as they moved. I watched 
them anxiously until the Confederate regiment dis- 
appeared in the wood at the opposite side of the field 
and the Yankee regiment retired. One of my ser- 
geants, Sterling Roberts, begged permission to fire at 
the line of blue. Considering that we would prob- 
ably suflfer greater damage by drawing the fire of the 
Federal guns upon our position than our rifles could 
inflict on the foe at so great a distance, I withheld 
my consent. 

As twilight deepened, the sounds of battle were 
hushed, and now orderlies came to direct us to the 
places of bivouac selected for our several regiments. 
Vf^ found ours close at hand ; and now, oppressed by 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

a mortifying sense of failure, a severe physical de- 
pression which had had no power over me while the 
work of the day engaged my faculties, began to as- 
sert itself. With body chilled in my wet clothes, my 
head aching terribly, having no blanket, I crept in 
between two of the boys, who very generously made 
room for me, and there forgot both care and pain 
in sleep. 

About seven o'clock General Johnston, as related 
in Johnston's "Narrative," received a slight wound 
in the right shoulder, and a few minutes later was 
unhorsed by a fragment of shell which struck his 
breast. He had previously announced to his staff 
that "each regiment must sleep where it might be 
standing when the contest ceased for the night, to 
be ready to renew it at dawn next morning." 

If any reason why the contest was not renewed next 
morning, besides the fact that General Johnston was 
disabled, has ever been made public, I have not seen it. 

There were sounds of heavy firing next morning, 
which we learned later was between Pickett's Brigade, 
assisted by two regiments of Colston's, and a superior 
Federal force. We supposed it to be a renewal of 
the general engagement which darkness had suspended 
the evening before. But our army, except the two 
brigades above mentioned, rested all day Sunday 
close to Sumner's front and on his right flank, while 
the two Federal corps, Heinzelman's and Keys's, were 
six miles away and the remainder of McClellan's 
army beyond the Chickahominy. 

On Sunday morning I found my boys all present 
or accounted for. The companies forming the left 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

wing of the regiment, and which had been in the 
woods during the battle, had suffered heavily. Among 
the slain was the gallant young Captain Black, of 
Carrollton, Ga., commanding Company F. Captain 
Black, though in age not much beyond his majority, 
had already won distinction in the forums of law and 
politics. He had been the candidate of the secession 
party of his county, and in public meetings discussed 
the principles involved with an eloquence that never 
failed to stir the enthusiasm of his audience. In the 
election he had led his ticket, and was defeated by 
only a few votes. Proving his faith by his works, he 
was one of the first to volunteer under the banner of 
the Confederacy. His wife, a daughter of Maj. Ahaz 
J. Boggess, and two children survive him. 

William Garrison, Orderly Sergeant of Company 
F, was another hero who gave his life to his country 
on this field. I knew him well. From his childhood 
up to the day of his fall I had observed him. Being 
of a high order of intellect, he had been a devoted 
student, and no scientific attainment was too deep or 
too high for his mental grasp. As a soldier, no man 
was more devoted to duty, none more prompt or 
skillful in its performance. He was a son of P. G. 
Garrison, late of Henderson, Tex., a brother of Prof. 
George P. Garrison, of the University of Texas, and 
a nephew of Col. William Ezra Curtis, of the Forty- 
First Georgia Volunteers, who was wounded to death 
at the head of his regiment in the fighting near Dalton, 
Ga. 

If space permitted, I would gladly record here the 
names of all the heroes of the Nineteenth who fell 

352 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

in this battle. Patriots all, their names should be 
written high on monuments of marble erected by their 
grateful countrymen to perpetuate the fame of their 
devotion through the ages to come. The loss in the 
entire division, as reported by General Smith, was 
1,233, ^^d McClellan reported Sumner's loss at 1,223. 
Early Sunday morning Hampton's Brigade, after 
standing some time in line of battle, moved back sev- 
eral hundred yards on the Williamsburg road and 
went into camp, leaving a picket of three companies 
of the Nineteenth, which I had the honor to command. 
I was directed to deploy to the left and hold the posi- 
tion until sundown. The place was in open woods 
with a dense thicket in front. Having established my 
line, the right resting on the road, I posted a line of 
vedettes out some distance into the thicket to guard 
against surprise, as an enemy approaching could not 
be seen until within less than fair musket range. In 
the afternoon, when stillness reigned in the forest, 
the sounds of several shots from a battery beyond 
the thicket burst upon the air. A shell shrieking over 
my head cut off, about twenty feet from the ground, 
a sapling ten feet behind me. Other shells exploded, 
one after another in quick succession, about a hundred 
and fifty yards off on our right front. There imme- 
diately followed the sound of galloping horses, as of 
a body of cavalry charging. They were evidently 
coming along the road from the direction of the Fed- 
eral position. There was excitement in the ranks, so 
that some men near the right, in their anxiety to get 
a view of the road toward our right front, began to 
move out of their places, unobserved by their com- 
23 353 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

mandant, who also had his whole attention fixed on 
the road. I spoke to him and he immediately re- 
stored his line, after which not a man moved. In a 
moment what appeared to be the head of a column 
of cavalry appeared in view, evidently pressing their 
horses to their utmost speed. But, just in time to 
prevent our firing, it was seen that they wore the 
gray, and it soon developed that there were only a 
dozen or fifteen of them. What a noise they made 
racing along the hard road ! While we waited and 
watched for a probably pursuing enemy, an officer and 
a sergeant from our line of file closers came running 
up, quite out of breath, from the same direction. 
Lieutenant Pickett afterwards related what then oc- 
curred, as follows: 

"As we approached the Captain he, looking like a 
small thundercloud, asked: 'Where in the hell have 
you been?' 

" 'We've just been down there at that abandoned 
Yankee camp,' I replied. 

" 'What the hell'd you go down there for ?' he said, 
'n' he said it sharp. 

"I answered: 'We thought we might get us a 
blanket apiece.' 

" 'Well, you came d — d nigh gettin' it, didn't you ?' 
This the Captain said in allusion to the custom of 
burying a soldier in his blanket." 

Now I was not at all in the habit of using words 
bordering on profanity, and I have ever entertained 
a slight suspicion that Pickett "stretched the blanket" 
just a little to please the boys, who always liked to 
have a laugh on "the Captain." 

354 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

It transpired that the cavalrymen, who were on 
scout duty, had halted at a camp that a regiment of 
Federals had abandoned in haste the day before, and 
were looking about for any portable articles of use 
that might be found, when they were discovered by 
the artilleryists of the nearest Federal battery, who 
began at once to throw shells at them. Hence the 
mad gallop along the road that had so startled us. 

Late in the evening my vedettes reported the ap- 
proach of a body of men through the woods. Going 
out to the front to ascertain for myself whether they 
were friends or foes, I met a company of North 
Carolinians, whose captain informed me that he had 
been on picket farther to the front, and, in reply to a 
question, that his orders were, as mine, to hold his 
position until sunset. It was a good while before sun- 
set now, and at my request he placed his men beyond 
the road on my right, in a thicket of ivy, which made 
a natural ambush. While I was still out in front of 
our line another company came up, whose captain 
admitted that he had the same orders, but said he 
had seen the Yankee cavalry preparing to charge, 
and, knowing he could not hold his position against 
them, he had decided to move back to camp. He re- 
fused to join my command, and marched away to the 
rear. It was well that I had taken the precaution 
to post vedettes, else we might have had the misfortune 
of firing on our friends, thus coming from the front 
through so dense a thicket. 

It seemed to me grossly unmilitary to have placed 
one line of pickets in front of and out of sight of 
another without informing each commandant of the 

355 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



other's position and orders. At or soon after sunset 
our pickets were withdrawn, and on Monday the 
army fell back to encampments near Richmond. 



PICKET DUTY. 

I RECALL several incidents that occurred while we 
waited on General Lee's preparations for striking 
McClellan the stunning blow which was to send him 
back to Washington — incidents which, if not other- 
wise interesting, serve to illustrate soldier life in an 
army confronting another of equal or superior force, 
each ready to grapple in a fight to the death when- 
ever the other shall take the initiative or expose a 
vulnerable point. 

Being officer of the guard one night when senti- 
nels were to be posted so near the enemy that it was 
necessary to place them after dark, I found that the 
line to be occupied penetrated a very dense thicket. 
Proceeding by a path so narrow that its windings 
were difficult to follow in the pitchy darkness, I 
posted the first relief, the last post so near the enemy 
that laughter and song were distinctly heard in his 
camp. Going around with the second relief, in the 
deepest and darkest part of the thicket I came upon 
a vacant post. Directing the men to keep silent and 
still, I put my ear to within a few inches of the 
ground and listened. Directly I heard whispers 
among the bushes. Assuming that one of the whis- 
perers was our missing sentinel and the other he that 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

should be on the next post — a little apprehensive too 
that they, having orders to fire on any one coming 
from the front, might fire on the relief — I gently 
called one of them by name. He answered promptly, 
and, being told to come back to his post, did so. These 
men, excited by the terrors of the dense darkness and 
a sense of the nearness of the Federal line, had imag- 
ined themselves encompassed by foes, and sought 
protection in each other's company. They were not 
Americans. Talk about battle being the highest test 
of courage! Many a hero of deadly conflicts in open 
day would cower under the horrible loneliness of a 
post like this on an almost rayless night. 

On another occasion, when officer of the day, I had 
to post a line of pickets covering the front of the 
brigade in some fields in the Chickahominy bottom. 
The line selected was about three hundred yards from 
the river, and, the Federals being just across it, in 
order not to expose our position it was not occupied 
until after dark. At the appointed hour the several 
details for the service were assembled at the foot of 
the uplands fronting the bottom. I pointed out to 
each commandant the position he was to occupy. At 
the extreme right was a big walnut tree by a hedge 
that led straight to it from the hill. The officer com- 
manding the right was instructed to extend his line 
from this point to within twenty yards of a large 
walnut on another hedge, which also extended to the 
hill. This tree was to be the post for the first file of 
the next detail. I pointed it out to the two men who 
were to occupy it, showing them that they would 
reach it by keeping along the hedgerow. And the 

357 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

line from there on to the left was marked by a hedge 
running parallel to the river. Having given the or- 
ders for the night, I proceeded with the first detail to 
a point near the center of its position, saw it deployed, 
and marched off toward its position in the line. I 
then returned to the point from which the right file 
of the next detail had been sent to its post and, ac- 
companied by an orderly, went along the hedge they 
had been directed to follow. When about halfway 
to the post designated for them, I discovered the out- 
lines of two men standing by a small tree out to the 
right. This was not within a hundred yards of the 
intended line. I approached to ascertain who they 
were and why at that place. To my great surprise, I 
found them to be the two men whose post was at the 
big walnut close by the hedge I had so plainly pointed 
out to them. Bidding them follow me, I went for- 
ward. When within about twenty paces of the big 
walnut, I was startled at seeing five men grouped 
about it. None of our men had any business there. 
The two who belonged there were behind me. We 
did not know whether the enemy picketed on this 
side of the river or not, but it seemed probable that 
here was an advanced picket of Federals. One of 
them challenged me. Being too close to retire, I 
quickly decided that if they should prove to be of 
the enemy I would fire at them with a little derringer 
I carried, and take the chances of escape afterwards. 
I knew I could depend on my orderly, little Haynes, 
of Company H. I had little reliance on the two men 
who had stopped so far short of their post. In an- 
swer to the *'Who comes there?" I replied promptly, 

358 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

"Pickets of the Nineteenth Georgia. Who are you?'' 
I saw the man reach out and take up his rifle, which 
had been leaning against the tree, as he slowly 
drawled out: "Pickets o-f — the — Nineteenth — Geor- 
gia." Advancing, I found that three of the five men 
were bunches of weeds. The other two were men 
who should have been on the next post, beyond the 
hedge. 

I now proceeded to the right, feeling for the left 
file of the first detail. I stumbled over ridges where 
corn had grown and sank over shoes in mud between 
them — ten paces, twenty, thirty, and yet no pickets. 
Orders had been given to "Fire on anything coming 
from the front," and I doubted not that I was in 
front of this misplaced line. It may well be supposed 
that, having set my face toward the hills, I proceeded 
cautiously. I would advance a few feet, halt, and 
try to stoop low enough to see any object as high as 
a man in the line of vision between me and the 
horizon. At length, during one of these pauses, I 
heard voices. Advancing with the utmost caution, I 
saw directly several men grouped together, evidently 
consulting. Trusting that they would recognize my 
voice, I spoke, saying: "What are you boys doing 
way back there?" 

Yes, there they were, along a little ditch more than 
a hundred yards in rear of the line pointed out so 
carefully to their commandant, and not properly de- 
ployed at that. I tell you there was a sight of fun 
in picket work on dark nights. 

At another time the whole regiment was on picket 
near the Federal lines in a grove of old field pines 

359 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

of several years' growth. The place was perfectly 
flat, water from recent rains covering it to a depth of 
two to four inches. The proximity of the enemy pre- 
cluded lights and fires. I found a brush heap, spread 
my blanket on it, and slept soundly until morning. 
In the morning fires to boil coffee were allowed. 
Where to kindle them was the question. For me it 
was solved by one of my men, Jim Pucket, who al- 
ways supplied me with coffee on the condition that I 
would supply the money to buy it. He kindled a 
little blaze on the pile of brush I had slept on, and I 
have rarely enjoyed a more refreshing cup of the 
fragrant Rio than was made in my tin cup that morn- 
ing. 

In the reorganization of brigades after the battle of 
Seven Pines the Nineteenth Georgia was transferred 
to Archer's, in which were three Tennessee regiments 
— the First, Seventh, and Fourteenth — and the Fifth 
Alabama battalion. The brigade was attached to A. 
P. Hill's Division, which constituted the left of the 
Confederate army, and was confronted by the Fed- 
eral General, J. B. Reynolds, with six or seven thou- 
sand men of Fitz John Porter's Corps, stationed at 
Mechanicsville, north of the Chickahominy. The 
main body of this corps, which numbered 25,000 of 
all arms, was under Porter's immediate command at 
Gaines's Mill, six miles below Mechanicsville. The 
other corps of the Federal army, about 75,000 men, 
occupied a fortified line, south of the Chickahominy, 
extending from near New Bridge to White Oak 
swamp. 

Soon after Archer's Brigade had taken the position 
360 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

assigned it, it began to intrench. The work, being in 
sight of the Federal outpost, was carried on at night, 
and the finished work covered with brush before day. 
It is not improbable that the design was to give Mc- 
Clellan the impression that a defensive policy was to 
be pursued, when the real design was to attack. Cer- 
tainly a military man with a good field glass looking 
from the opposite hills would not be deceived by the 
screen of brush as to what it covered. 

I was detailed one night to superintend the work 
in front of the brigade. There was a detail from 
each regiment, and I was rejoiced to meet in the 
officer at the head of that from the Fifth Alabama 
battalion an old friend, Captain Burton. He had 
married a schoolmate of mine. Miss Rebecca Dia- 
mond, and I had stood up with him at his wedding. 
Having assigned to each detail a section of the work, 
I sought Captain Burton, and, reclining together on 
a blanket spread under a tree, we talked long of old 
friends and happier days — dear, peaceful days, when 
hope enlivened fancy with whispers of great things 
in the dim future. Two days afterwards, as we 
moved to engage the enemy, I saw him for the last 
time. He did not return from the battle. 

Next day General Archer rode up to our encamp- 
ment, accompanied by an orderly leading a saddled 
horse. By the General's direction I mounted this 
horse and rode with him along the ditch we were 
digging and the line upon which it was to be ex- 
tended. He observed closely the topography of the 
ground, pointing out places where it would be neces- 
sary to make curves, all the while asking questions to 

361 



IN BARRACK AND FlELt). 

elicit my views about the work. When he had fin- 
ished his observations we rode to his quarters, where 
I dined with him and, when about to take my leave, 
received his instructions to carry on the work. But 
our ditch was never finished. 



MECHANICSVILLE. 

On the morning of the 26th of June Archer's 
Brigade filed out of its encampment and moved in the 
direction of Meadow Bridge. Near the bridge there 
was a halt to await Jackson's arrival within support- 
ing distance. About four o'clock in the afternoon 
the brigade crossed the bridge and, turning to the 
right a little beyond it, approached Mechanicsville 
by a road running nearly parallel to the river, the 
Nineteenth Georgia in advance. When near the en- 
trance to a lane leading along a depression which ex- 
tends to the village, Gen. A. P. Hill and his staff 
were seen coming over the ridge on our right, fol- 
lowed by a cavalry escort under the gallant Captain 
(afterwards Brigadier General) Gilbert J. Wright, 
of Georgia. They were evidently in view of the 
Federals, who were hidden from us by a heavily 
wooded forest on our left; for as they descended to- 
ward the road a number of shells passing over them 
exploded near the summit of the ridge. 

We had halted to let the men lay off their knap- 
sacks. General Hill and his escort crossed the road, 
proceeding along the edge of the field under the 

362 



IN BARRACK AND FlELt). 

shadow of the timber, to a point favorable for ob- 
serving both the enemy and our advancing brigades, 
now about to go into action. 

Each company commander was directed to leave 
a man to guard the knapsacks. The youngest boy of 
Company H had been detailed for this service, when 
an older man approached me, saying he was sick, and 
begged to be left with the baggage. I looked at him, 
and his bloodless face showed me that he was telling 
the truth. I had no doubt that fear had caused it; 
but recognizing the fact of the result, I told him to 
stay, but he must stay as a sick man. The boy al- 
ready detailed should guard the knapsacks. The 
Nineteenth was now ordered forward. 

Moving forward, when we had passed the woods 
on the left, our light artillery (about eighteen pieces), 
aligned along the crest of a low ridge, was seen 
firing rapidly at the enemy's works, plainly visible 
beyond Beaver Dam Creek. A gun with a broken 
axle was dragged into the road as we passed. Far 
to the left two brigades, down near the creek, were 
advancing. 

Before seeing all this I had felt some trepidation — 
a natural tremor of the flesh under the consciousness 
of exposure to peril that must be met. But after I 
had seen those brave fellows fighting their guns so 
gallantly, and the line of gray there on the left ad- 
vancing so grandly, the sense of danger was quite 
forgotten. Shells from the Federal guns, aimed at 
our batteries, coming with unwelcome frequency, and 
striking the crest of the ridge on our left, would ric- 

363 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ochet and, passing over us, explode or bury them- 
selves in the ridge on our right. 

Arriving at the village, the Nineteenth filed to the 
left along a road just outside the field occupied by our 
artillery. This road, descending from the village into 
a deep hollow, then led up and over the opposite 
hill, and, with a slight curve to the right, on down to 
the Beaver Dam, toward the enemy's position. 

When the head of the column reached the summit 
of the ridge, a point on a line with and on the right of 
our batteries, there was a halt. Colonel Johnson 
rode forward and had just entered the curve in the 
road, when his horse, alarmed by a charge of grape 
rattling through the heavy undergrowth, whirled 
around and dashed back. The Colonel quickly 
checked him and was riding forward again, possibly 
to recover his hat which had fallen off, when he met 
a second charge of grape, and the horse refused to 
proceed. A man near the head of the column was 
wounded. But a minute or two elapsed, however, 
before the regiment was put in motion, filing to the 
right. It moved far enough to clear the road, faced 
to the left, and advanced through the woods. Pres- 
ently, without orders, I think, firing began on the 
right and quickly extended along the entire line. Pos- 
sibly a picket or a vedette of the enemy had been seen. 
But as I saw none, I immediately stopped the firing 
near me. The only effect of this premature firing was 
to apprise the enemy of the direction of our approach. 

Advancing until the right came to the margin of 
the Beaver Dam, still in the woods, and the left had 
passed out of the woods into a field and was yet some 

364 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD, 



distance from the creek, there it halted. The stream 
had been dammed, and there was an unknown depth 
of water before us. The edge of the field formed, 
with the line of the creek, an acute angle. The right 
of my company was opposite this angle. There had 
been a fence here, and part of it, four or five rails 
in height, was yet standing. The men, squatting by 
this rotten fence, were screened from the enemy by a 
dense thicket of oak bushes that had grown along in 
the corners. 

Firing was now renewed all along the line. Look- 
ing at the enemy's works, I could see nothing but 
smoke and the blaze of their guns. I noticed one of 
my boys, young Cantrell, loading and firing as rapidly 
as he could, apparently with careful aim. Putting 
my hand on his shoulder, I said: "Cantrell, don't 
waste your ammunition ; don't fire unless you see an 
enemy to fire at." Looking up at me, he replied ex- 
citedly: ''Why, Captain, don't you see 'em? Don't 
you see that big man going along inside their breast- 
works?" "All right," I said, "if you see them, fire 
away." And he did. 

Seeing Colonel Johnson a few yards in the rear, evi- 
dently trying to make himself heard, I ran to him 
and asked what the orders were. "Forward," he 
replied, "forward all the time." He rode off toward 
the right, and I never saw gallant Tom Johnson again. 
A few minutes later young Breckenridge, who I think 
was a volunteer aid, appeared in our rear. From the 
energetic working of his jaw he seemed trying to 
convey some important order. Going to him, I 
learned that he too was shouting "Forward, forward !" 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I now proposed to the company commanders next 
on my right and left to stop the firing, so that an 
order could be heard, and then rush across the creek. 
In order the better to see what was in my immediate 
front before making the rush, I stepped through the 
line, over the little fence, and out into the corner of 
the field. There was backwater from the edge of the 
field to the beginning of the abatis, which covered the 
hillside beyond the creek, and bullets were splashing 
into it like hail. As I turned to retire, I felt a sharp 
tap on the side of my head, just above and a little 
back of the left ear. Stepping back into the bushes 
and through the line, I passed close by Corporal 
Haynes, in the line of file closers, and had faced to the 
front when I saw that the poor fellow had fallen 
forward on his face. I started to him, intending to 
lay him on his back with his head up the incline. I 
had made one step when, my weight being on the left 
foot, my left thigh snapped, and I found myself on 
the ground, close to the feet of my fallen comrade. 

Sergeant Harrison ran to me, and by my direction 
made a tourniquet of my handkerchief and a short 
stick, and put it around the broken limb above the 
wound. Lieutenant Selfrige, of Company G (from 
Henry County, Ga.), came to me and said: ''Captain, 
what do you want done?" 'Tight on," I replied. 
Meanwhile my brave Corporal Parks, who was on 
the litter corps, had come to his fallen comrade, 
Haynes. As he stooped over him he received a buck- 
shot in the left temple. Ranging downward, it came 
out under the jaw. Here were three of us, within 
elbow touch, down in about thirtv seconds. Blood 

366 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

was dripping down on my shoulder, which led those 
who had come to me to suppose that I had been 
wounded in the head; but it was found that only the 
lobe of my left ear had been slightly clipped. There 
was a knot above the ear about the size of a partridge 
egg, but the skin was not broken. 

Selfrige and Harrison, without waiting for my con- 
sent, took me up and carried me up the hill. As they, 
with no little difficulty, bore me along, one of them 
trod upon my sword. The chain by which it hung 
from the belt broke, and the sword was lost. I re- 
gretted it much, for it had been my father's. 

Halfway up the slope I was lifted upon Sergeant 
Harrison's back, and, with arms clasping his neck, 
was borne comfortably up to the crest of the ridge. 
Here we came upon a man with a litter lying behind 
a log. Lieutenant Selfrige proposed to use this litter 
for me. The fellow's expression was absolutely fiend- 
ish as he replied: "I'll be d — d if anybody that don't 
belong to my regiment gets this litter." It was en- 
tirely evident that the defensive log behind which he 
lay was dearer to his mongrel soul than were his 
comrades dying on the fighting line some hundred 
yards away. 

Sergeant Harrison, the brave and tender-hearted 
(he had been my schoolmate at old Hiwassee), ran 
off and returned directly with a litter. In the mean- 
while there had arrived on the spot three men who 
said they were going after a litter for Colonel John- 
son, who had been killed. Selfrige thought they were 
too many to be going together after one litter, and so 
directed them to go with Sergeant Harrison and 

367 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

carry me out and then bring the Htter back. Having 
seen me placed carefully on the litter, he said, *'Ser- 
geant, you go on with the Captain, and I'll go back 
to my company," and walked rapidly away toward the 
front. O the brave heart ! I grieve that I am never 
to meet him again this side of the final bivouac. 

As my bearers approached the road, it was found 
blocked by artillery teams. A shell fell among the 
horses. I was so frightened at the thought of being 
trampled to death by the frenzied animals that I 
begged the boys to bear me farther from the road. 
When we entered the road in rear of the guns, I saw 
our Adjutant General in the field on our right gal- 
loping toward the rear. Calling him, I told him that 
the Nineteenth Georgia was "down there at the creek 
suffering terribly, with no possibility of doing any 
good." He replied: "It will be recalled as soon as I 
can find the — Tennessee." (I was informed after- 
wards that, when the battle was at the hottest, General 
Archer had exclaimed : "My God, haven't I a fighting 
brigade? Just look at the Nineteenth Georgia down 
at the foot of the hill as firm as a rock." This was 
the origin of the name "Rock Regiment," sometimes 
applied to the Nineteenth Georgia after this battle.) 
As the Adjutant General spoke, a cannon ball, plainly 
visible, passed just above him. Looking up, but nev- 
er checking his horse, he exclaimed: "God! Don't 
that stink?" I watched the flight of the ball. It 
entered the back of a chimney in the village and 
disappeared. It appears that the effect of my wound 
had not been to withdraw my attention from the ordi- 

368 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

nary incidents to be expected in a battle. The men- 
tal depression was to come later. 

Following the route by which the regiment had 
advanced, we came to the post of a field surgeon near 
the end of the lane. Here I was given morphine and 
a little brandy, and was informed that a little farther 
on an ambulance would be found, which would convey 
me to the division field hospital, beyond Meadow 
Bridge. My bearers had proceeded only a few yards 
when a young surgeon came out to the road and 
asked who was on the litter. Sergeant Harrison hav- 
ing informed him, he said, "Wait a minute," and, 
hurrying back to his post, immediately returned with 
a bottle of brandy, of which he advised me to take a 
good draught. Having been hospital steward in the 
old army, I had been trained to follow prescriptions 
very precisely. A "good draught" is not definite as 
to measure, and I gave myself the benefit of the 
discretion implied. I think it possible that another 
Knight of the Probe and Scalpel stopped that litter 
before it arrived at the ambulance; but having lost 
considerable blood, my memory naturally began about 
this time to be perhaps a little confused. 

I was at length safely bestowed in the ambulance, 
which had not proceeded far when a hub of it col- 
lided with a hub of that same crippled gun carriage 
which had been dragged out of the field some two 
hours before. What use was there for a road in the 
rear except as a place in which to pile up the debris 
of the battle? But the jolt of that collision of the 
ambulance with the debris here brought the ends of 
a broken bone together with a grind that made the 
24 369 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

victim wince and almost wish the fellow who had no 
better sense than to leave obstructions in the line of 
retreat had been crippled himself, instead of his gun. 
There were other jolts on that four-mile journey, but 
at last the ambulance arrived at its destination, and 
its load was duly deposited in a big tent, where the 
already distinguished surgeon, Dr. Beatty, was giv- 
ing his attention to a prior arrival. Stretched on a 
blanket, I very quickly fell asleep. I was aroused by 
deep groans of some one near me. I recognized Lieu- 
tenant Brownfield, of Company K, as the sufferer. 
I have never seen any one else endure such agony as 
his expressions indicated. Presently Dr. Beatty said 
to me : "Captain, it's your turn now ; can you wait till 
I see if I can do anything for Brownfield?" ''Cer- 
tainly," I replied. Presently he said to Mr. Brown- 
field: ''AH I can do for you is to give something to 
alleviate the pain." 

I was asleep again when I was aroused by some 
one who seemed to be trying to pull my leg off. 
Starting up, I discovered that an attendant was ac- 
tually trying to pull off — not my leg, but — my boot. 
"Cut it off!" I shouted. Having removed the boot, 
he began tugging at my pants. He seemed discon- 
certed when he found that he was hurting me. I 
told him to rip the inside seam and he could then 
uncover the wound without tearing me to pieces. He 
hadn't thought of that. 

I was half dozing again when I felt the Surgeon's 
fingers about the wound. Presently he said: "Cap- 
tain, I'll have to cut a little now." "Cut away," I 
replied. I clamped my teeth together, as I felt the 

370 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

keen blade among the nerves at the back of the 
broken thigh. Then something, perhaps forceps, was 
gently thrust into the orifice made by the knife and 
withdrav.- \ and the Surgeon, saying, "There it is, 
Captain," dropped the half of a Minie ball into my 
hand. The ball had split when it struck the bone, 
and part of it had passed out at the side of the thigh, 
leaving a somewhat ragged wound. Some bandages 
were put on, and Dr. Beatty said: "That's all I can 
do for you. Captain." "You are done?" I asked. 
"Well, I reckon I can grunt now, can't I?" "Yes, 
grunt as much as you please." I fetched a good, long 
grunt from away down, and it did me lots o' good. 
Then I slept. 

On awaking next morning I found that poor 
Brownfield was at rest. He was beyond the pain and 
the anguish and the agony of war. 



UNCLE BILLY VS. SURGEON GREEN. 

I WAS sent to the Third Georgia Hospital at Rich- 
mond. The ambulance had hardly stopped in front 
of the entrance when Uncle Billy Pace presented him- 
self. Uncle Billy had seen the winters of more than 
threescore years when he enlisted in my company. 
He had been the cook of our officers' mess, but, grow- 
ing feeble in the climate of Northern Virginia, had 
been detailed as a hospital attendant and assigned to 
this hospital. 

Scarcely had he finished his greetings before he 
371 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

asked if I wanted to go to a private house. On re- 
ceiving an affirmative reply, he darted off Uke a boy 
up the street, reappearing presently and directed the 
driver to the house of a Mr. Frazier, about a block 
from the hospital. Here, with much difficulty, I was 
carried up a narrow stairway to a room in the second 
story, fronting on the street. 

Dr. Green, Chief Surgeon of the Third Georgia 
Hospital, in which I had been enrolled, came promptly 
to see me, accompanied by an assistant, whom I sus- 
pected of bringing instruments for amputation. The 
doctor questioned me in a sort of family physician 
way — a very kind way — and, having finished his ex- 
amination, said : "Vv^ell, Captain, I will advise you as 
I would my own brother. You'd better have it taken 
off." "Well, Doctor," I replied, after a moment's re- 
flection, "I believe I'll let it stay on and risk it." 
"Very well," he rejoined, and, turning abruptly away, 
went out, followed by his assistant. I really think the 
good old Doctor was somewhat offended. He re- 
turned, however, and put me into a contrivance for 
which I have never found a name, and I have never 
seen its counterpart. It consisted of two boards about 
^x3, extending from the armpits down each side to 
a board, against which my feet rested, and into which 
the side pieces were mortised. To this board, which 
was about 9x12x1, my feet were firmly bound by 
bandages passed through auger holes. Bandages 
were passed around my thighs and through holes in 
the side pieces, with bands about my body, so that 
only arms and head were left free. 

Uncle Billy Pace stayed with me. In vain Surgeon 
372 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Green, zealous for the public service, ordered him to 
return to his post at the hospital. The only thing 
that at all moved him was the Surgeon's threat to 
discharge him from the army. This raised in his 
breast a terrible conflict between his devotion to me 
and his ardent desire to remain in the service. He 
was restless and unhappy. Seeing this, I said to him : 
''Do not worry about it, Uncle Billy. Let him dis- 
charge you. You shall go home with me, and when 
you get ready to come back I'll reenlist you." From 
that moment Uncle Billy was himself again. Man 
never had a more faithful nurse ; and if he was want- 
ing in skill, he made it up in the tenderness and con- 
stancy of his devotion. 

For a few days I had another attendant, of even 
more gentle mold— a young lady who was visiting in 
the house. She was beautiful, intelligent, charming 
in manner. But her visit ended, she went away, and 
I saw her no more. 

After a few days my feet began to pain me intol- 
erably. Doctor Green prescribed large cotton hand- 
kerchiefs, to be tied over the bandages, which^ he 
thought would relieve the pressure, but the promised 
relief did not follow. One evening I had a chill. I sent 
Dr. Green a request to call. He came, put his finger 
on my nose, and said: "Yes, it's on you now." He 
then turned away, and, after examining two other 
patients who occupied the room with me, was going 
out. I called him, and asked what I should do. 
"Take quinine and brandy." 
"Will you send it from the hospital?" 
"No. You will have to send out and buy it." 
373 



• 

IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



I was surprised and indignant that he did not give 
me a written prescription, and that I had to pump it 
out of him. Having, in reply to my questions, given 
his reluctant directions, he went below and told Mrs. 
Frazier that I would not survive twenty-four hours 
after that chill. "They all go that way," said he. 

I did not know this until some time afterwards, but 
I noticed the unusual expression of sorrowful sympa- 
thy in the eyes of Mrs. Frazier and others of the 
household, who, though not accustomed to entering 
my room, came that day and looked at me. 

Uncle Billy went out and procured some quinine 
and a bottle of brandy, and I began at once to take 
it. One night — I think it was that following the 
morning of the chill — I fancied myself aiding in the 
defense of a small earthwork, the walls of which 
seemed to be twenty-five feet high. While looking 
out at an embrasure at the top of the wall on one 
side I heard a commotion behind me, and, looking, 
saw that the enemy had effected an entrance through 
an opposite portal. The only way to avoid capture 
was to jump from the embrasure to the ground out- 
side of the works. Suddenly I became conscious, and 
found myself trying to get out at a window by which 
stood my cot. Had I been able to get off the cot, I 
should doubtless have fallen to the pavement below. 
This circumstance awakened in my mind very serious 
reflections. It occurred to me that death might not 
be very far away. But in five minutes I had shaken 
off the thought, and my faith in recovery, which had 
not faltered before and did not afterwards, revived. 

But I could not longer tqIy on our surgeon's treat- 
374 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

ment. Two of my brothers, Hon. Thomas N. Beall, 
of Irwinton, and Hon. Noble P. Beall, of Dallas, Ga., 
came to me about this time. The condition in which 
they found me gave them little hope of my recovery. 
The circulation was completely cut off from my feet, 
and from the left foot the sense of feeling seemed 
gone. I had the bandages loosed. The result was 
the lapping of the thigh bone and shortening of the 
leg, but it saved my life. By hard work and repeated 
effort, my brothers got my right knee joint in working 
order again, and by much massage the blood was per- 
suaded to return to my feet. From that time on I 
gained strength from day to day, until, at the end of 
about nine weeks from its breaking, my thigh was 
pronounced strong enough to bear my weight. 

To the lay mind it is somewhat mysterious that 
one whose life is despaired of rises to contradict the 
prophecies of his death, while another, whose condi- 
tion excites no fears, declines in despite of hope and 
medical skill, and dies. While I lay there, waiting on 
the healing of my wound, one of our lieutenants (his 
name I have, to my regret, forgotten), whose wrist 
had been lacerated on the inner side by a bullet, sank 
slowly into the sleep of death in a house near me. 
Another brave young officer, of splendid physique, 
having typhoid fever, occupied the room with me. 
Becoming convalescent, he had the appetite which is 
characteristic of recovering fever patients. One day, 
through a negro servant, he procured some cucum- 
bers. These he sliced into a common tumbler, poured 
vinegar over them, and ate them. He relapsed, and 

375 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

not many days afterwards his body was borne away 
to a cemetery. 

Why is it? The result of differences in treatment? 
In temperament? In the skill of nurses? Has Prov- 
idence nothing to do with it? In my own case, when 
all despaired of my recovery, hope sustained and ani- 
mated me. But whence came hope? 

As soon as I thought myself able to endure the 
fatigue of the journey I started home, Uncle Billy 
going with me. I lay in a car on the cot upon which 
I had rested in my tedious waiting at Richmond. On 
account of the crowded condition of the trains, we 
were detained a day or two at Lynchburg. At length, 
through the intervention of Lieutenant Mead, of 
Company A, Nineteenth Georgia, who had been in 
the mail service, and who was also en route to Geor- 
gia, a place for me was found in a mail car. Nothing 
of special interest occurred en route. We arrived 
safely at Acworth, Ga. Here, but for Uncle Billy, I 
would have lost my trunk. The train was going on 
with it. Uncle Billy running along by it, much to the 
amusement of the public, shouting in his shrill tones, 
"Stop, you've got the Captain's trunk, you've got the 
Captain's trunk," the soldiers aboard the train cheer- 
ing heartily. Luckily the conductor's attention was 
attracted, the train was stopped, and the trunk put 
off. Uncle Billy, having seen me comfortably placed 
in a hotel, bade me good-by, and joyfully set out for 
home. I never saw the kind-hearted old man after- 
wards, but he has ever held a place in my memory 
as a man worthy of the highest esteem. 

After resting a day or two, accompanied by Hon. 
376 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

W. W. Merrell, who had ridden over to meet me, I 
went on to Dallas, where, in my brother's home, I 
rested until late in September. I then went to Car- 
roll, and was happily united with the dear ones at 
the old homestead, and a few days later became a 
benedict. 



AN ARBITRARY CAPTAIN. 

A "Pull" with the Powers That Be More Potent 
Than Loyalty and Wounds. 

Early in 1863 Mrs. Beall and I paid a visit to my 
sister, Mrs. M. A. Hardin, of McMinn County, Tenn. 
Mr. Hardin was a soldier in one of the Tennessee 
regiments of infantry. An old lameness in one of his 
feet had developed, so that on a long or rapid march 
he found it impossible* to keep his place in column. 
He had made application to be transferred to cavalry, 
and his captain, being unfriendly, had withheld his 
approval. There was no military reason in this. In 
the case of one of my own men. Private Roberts, 
whom I knew to be of the best, fearless and deliberate 
in battle, prompt in all the routine duties of the sol- 
dier, and who, being a South Carolinian, had, on that 
ground alone, applied for a transfer to a regiment of 
that State, I had without hesitation approved his ap- 
plication. A good soldier is ever the better soldier 
from being satisfied with his company and regimental 
relations. 

I knew there were difficulties in the way of getting 
a man transferred without the approval of his cap- 

377 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

tain, but I did not suppose them to be insurmountable. 
As the reader will see, I had not yet learned the full 
scope of the arbitrariness of military rule. If I had, 
I would not, as I did, have made a journey to General 
Bragg's headquarters, and then to Richmond, to so- 
licit personally an order for the transfer of Mr. Har- 
din, although I felt that my effort was in the interest 
of the service; for, if successful, it would give the 
army a first-rate cavalryman, while taking from the 
infantry a man fit only for garrison duty. 

I determined to see General Johnston, not expecting 
him for any personal consideration, or any considera- 
tion whatever, to depart in the least from that rigid 
military propriety which was a characteristic of his 
entire career, but still hoping that he would find in the 
good of the service ample reasons for his interference 
in this case. 

On arriving at Tullahoma, I went to the office of 
the Adjutant General with Mr. Dever, of Rock Mart, 
Ga., who had come on business with that office, Mr. 
Dever having concluded his business, we were coming 
out of the office, when, looking up at a group of men 
on a portico at our left, hoping to catch a view of 
General Bragg, whom I had never seen, I caught the 
eye of General Johnston. Instantly he came down the 
steps and grasped my hand, greeting me like a broth- 
er. In the course of a brief conversation that en- 
sued, an opening was presented of which I availed 
myself to present the case of Mr. Hardin. The Gen- 
eral showed a kind and sympathetic interest in the 
case, but he could not interfere in a matter which was 
in General Bragg's department and subject to his 

378 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

exclusive jurisdiction. I do not now recall all that 
was said, but there was some expression that discour- 
aged any application to General Bragg and inclined 
me to take the matter to the Secretary of War. 

General Johnston's kindness of tone and manner 
soothed, if it did not take away my sense of disappoint- 
ment, and I was glad to learn that I should have the 
pleasure of traveling on the same train with him next 
day as far as Chattanooga. 

When we met at the train next morning the Gen- 
eral gave me a kindly greeting. He was accompanied 
by Tennessee's war Governor, Isham G. Harris, and 
several Congressmen. I took a seat some distance 
from them. About ten o'clock the trained stopped at 
a water tank, and nearly all of the passengers in our 
car got ofif to stretch their limbs outside. I was 
leaning out at a window, enjoying the fresh air that 
seemed to rise with a delicious coolness from the 
running water which here spread out along the track, 
when some one walked along the aisle and stopped 
opposite me. I looked around. "Old Joe" was 
standing there with a glass brimming full of an amber 
liquid. Thrusting it at me, he said: "Here, drink 
this." The first duty of the soldier is to obey. I 
therefore promptly put myself outside of the con- 
tents of that glass. It was domestic wine of excellent 
flavor and most refreshing. As I handed back the 
empty glass the General leaned near me and, his eyes 
twinkling, said in an audible whisper: "A lady sent 
me that this morning just before I started. I think 
it's pretty good, don't you?" 

At Chattanooga I changed cars for Athens, Tenn. 

379 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

While the train stood at Cleveland a few minutes I 
stepped off on the platform of the station, hoping to 
find in the throng gathered there some friend of bet- 
ter days when I had played the youthful pedagogue 
in that vicinity. Instead of a friend I found a thief — 
or he found me rather. In making my way back 
through a crowd of men on the platform, moving with 
difficulty on my crutches, my blanket was torn from 
my shoulders. I looked back as quickly as I could, 
but it was nowhere visible, nor could I get any in- 
formation about it. 

It is one of the evils of war that things in the 
form of men, 

"Both careless and fearless 
Of either heaven or hell," 

in the guise of soldiers, follow in the wake of armies, 
hang upon their flanks, and mingle in the crowds that 
gather at stations on lines of transportation, always 
on the lookout for loot; wearing the uniform of either 
army according to their field of operations, preying 
on citizen and soldier alike, ravaging the stately man- 
sion and the humble cot, despoiling the home of the 
patriot soldier who is away fighting the battles of 
his country, and of the widow over whose soldier the 
flowers are already blooming. Often by disguises 
and false representations, they attach the bad odor 
of their crimes to some regiment or other body of 
soldiers in the vicinity. Their vile imposture in this 
respect falls more heavily on the cavalry because the 
scoundrels are usually mounted (on stolen horses) 
and the cavalry move about the country more than 
infantry. 

380 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

These plunderers are of that class from which, in 
times of peace, the jails and penitentiaries are peo- 
pled. In peace they do not all get into the institu- 
tions they are so fitted to adorn ; in war they carry 
on their nefarious trade with almost perfect impunity. 

I now proceed with my narrative. Returning to 
Mr. Hardin's, I rested a few days, and then rode up 
to the encampment of the First Georgia Cavalry, near 
Kingston. I found many sick in the regiment, and the 
horses needed much the rest as well as the abundant 
forage provided for them here. Among the sick was 
my wife's brother, George W. Merrell, the poet-law- 
yer of Carrollton, Ga. 

I spent a pleasant day and night with old friends 
of my native county, members of Capt. O. P. Shu- 
ford's Company, and would gladly reproduce here if 
I could some of the stories of adventure and daring 
which I heard around their camp fires. The men 
who followed Joe Wheeler heard often the zip of 
the Minie ball and the vicious song of the shell. 

Next morning I was in the saddle early, and, in 
company with George, who, on his surgeon's recom- 
mendation, had been granted a short leave of ab- 
sence, set out to return to the dear ones awaiting us 
on the Chestua, down in Monroe, where we arrived 
without accident or adventure. 

Soon afterwards I returned to Georgia and, leaving 
Mrs. Beall at home, proceeded to Richmond, hoping 
to secure some place in the service for which my 
wound did not disqualify me. At Augusta, when 
about to leave the hotel where I had lodged to go to 
the railway station, as I turned away from the clerk's 

381 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

desk I found myself face to face with my brother, 
Thomas N. Beall, of Irwinton. I had not dreamed 
of meeting him. To me it was as with a traveler 
who, journeying across some dreary plain, weary and 
athirst, comes suddenly upon a group of trees over- 
shadowing a spring of pure, cool water. A glad, 
hearty greeting, a brief exchange of inquiries about 
our respective families, and I hurried away to the train. 
Next day, as our miserably slow train crawled along, 
an episode in most unpleasing contrast with that just 
related occurred. At some place where the train 
had stopped I had taken a vacant seat. A tall man, 
apparently somewhat advanced in years, came in 
from somewhere, approached me, and said: ''You've 
got my seat, sir." "I am very sorry, sir," I replied; 
"but you see my condition : I can't very well get about 
on crutches while the train is in motion. I found this 
seat vacant, took it, and I think I shall have to keep 
it." 

Whereupon he began to bluster and tried to bully 
me, which made me the more determined to hold the 
seat. Whether the conductor interfered or the blus- 
terer read disapproval of his conduct in the faces of 
the passengers near us, I do not now remember; but 
he at length desisted and sought another place, where 
he probably made himself unhappy, "nursing his 
wrath to keep it warm." The boor is of all countries, 
but this man was the only citizen of the South who 
was rude to me during the four years of war. 

At Richmond the Congressman representing my 
district favored me by going with me to the War 
Office and presenting me to the Assistant Secretary, 

382 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

to whom I appealed in vain in the matter of Mr. 
Hardin's apphcation for a transfer to cavalry service. 
The judgment of his captain in the case was final. 

I now proceeded to the office of the Commissary 
General, to whom also I was presented by our Con- 
gressman, and made known my wish to be employed 
in the government service. The Commissary General 
kindly advised me to file a written application, which 
he said would be considered in its turn, adding for my 
encouragement: 'There are already some fifteen hun- 
dred applications on file." 

I learned subsequently that an able-bodied man had 
been taken from the ranks of the Nineteenth Georgia 
and made a paymaster's clerk. Later on in the war 
a captain of the same regiment, who had received a 
f^esh wound in the left arm, was made a post quarter- 
master within about thirty days after receiving the 
injury. Both these appointees were of the city of 
our Congressman's residence. 



THE TRIUMPH OF HUMANITY. 

From Richmond I went to visit the Nineteenth 
Georgia, near Fredericksburg, and was greeted on 
arrival with flattering expressions of pleasure by the 
men of my old company and many others of the 
''Rock Regiment." 

There are few who understand the strong and ten- 
der sympathy between soldiers associated in the hard- 
ships and dangers of war, and that such sympathy 

383 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

is not limited to the relations between comrades of 
the same company or regiment. The highest human 
qualities are developed in the hearts of the brave 
under exposure to common suffering and danger — a 
humanity that distinction of rank cannot suppress and 
scenes of carnage cannot harden. As if Nature in- 
tended some recompense for the horrors of war, this 
fraternal principle embraces even foes in its sweet 
beneficence. The chivalrous cavalryman vacates his 
saddle for his foot-weary prisoner ; the gallant footman, 
in the exaltation of magnanimity, pauses in the storm 
of battle to give his canteen or his flask to a wounded 
enemy, knowing not how soon his own throat may be 
parched with the fever of deadly wounds. 

'The bravest are the tenderest" is considered trite, 
but every veteran will recall instances of self-sacrifice 
in behalf of comrades that illustrate its truth. I do 
not speak of mere physical bravery — the burglar and 
the bulldog have that, and are cruel — but of that 
higher courage of the soul that overcomes self and, 
when every nerve in it is crying out for rest, spurs 
the body to further effort to relieve a suffering com- 
rade, or even an enemy. I recall a case in point: 

At night on the day of the battle at Savage Station 
a Confederate officer, exhausted by the marching and 
fighting, in which there had been but one day's cessa- 
tion in five, groping in the dark on the battlefield for 
an easy place on which to dispose his tired body for 
the night, came upon two wounded men. One of 
them proved to be a captain of an Ohio regiment, 
the other a private, a South Carolinian. The Federal 
captain, lying on the ground, had become chilled. He 

384 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

asked our young officer if he could not have his sur- 
geon give them some whisky. Worn out as he was, 
the young Southerner made his way to the surgeon, 
got the whisky, and returned. He then immediately 
set out in search of something to put between the 
wounded men and the chilly ground. In an old aban- 
doned house he found some straw, of which he made 
for them a comfortable bed. Nor did he cease his 
ministrations until both of the wounded men assured 
him that their sufferings were greatly relieved, and 
began to insist that he share with them the bed of 
straw. He threw his weary body down, and side by 
side the comrades in gray and the comrade in blue 
forgot their weariness and wounds in sleep. 

At dawn our officer bade his new friends good-by, 
and as he marched away for Frazer's Farm and Mal- 
vern Hill copious tears attested their appreciation of 
his timely help. 

The Confederate officer of this incident was Capt. 
A. J. Richardson, of Atlanta, Ga., now an honored 
teacher. 



HOW PRIVATE TI DWELL ESCAPED. 

During my visit to the regiment near Fredericks- 
burg there were related to me several incidents of the 
battle of December 13 and 14, 1862. One of these, 
illustrating the fact that even battle has its mirth-pro- 
voking events, I will here reproduce. 

If the reader will refer to General Lee's report of 
the battle of Fredericksburg, found in Long's "Mem- 
25 385 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

oirs of Robert E. Lee/' page 554, he will find that 
in the line of battle there was an interval between the 
brigades of Lane and Archer, of A. P. Hill's Corps. 
This interval was a low, marshy place in woods ex- 
tending out into the open plain, Archer's Brigade be- 
ing on the right of it. When Franklin's Corps ad- 
vanced, that part of it opposite this tongue of wood- 
land, not meeting the storm of shot that checked his 
advancing lines to the right and left of it, penetrated 
between Lane's right and Archer's left. The boys of 
the Nineteenth, comfortably squatted in a ditch be- 
hind a low bank that had once marked the boundary 
of a field, were pouring a destructive fire into the Fed- 
eral ranks, when suddenly it was discovered that bullets 
were hitting the bank on their side of it — zip, zip, 
zip — all along. Looking to the rear, they were star- 
tled by the apparition of a line of blue moving along 
an old road parallel to our line and about a hundred 
)^ards behind it. Nearly all the men were warned in 
time to retire into the woods behind the old road 
before the Federal column had advanced far enough 
to intercept them. Several, however, tarried until 
it was too late for a prudent man to think of any- 
thing but surrender. Private Tidwell, of Company 
H, was one of these, but he didn't happen to think of 
lying still and yielding himself a prisoner. Spring- 
ing up to his full six feet of height, he started with 
greyhound leaps straight at that column of blue. As 
he approached it, at a point some twenty yards in 
from the head of the column, swinging his rifle like 
a balancing rod, he was greeted with loud cries 
of: "Come on, Johnnie; we're waitin' for you." 

386 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

But Tidwell suddenly made a file left spring that 
changed his direction to one parallel with the col- 
umn. There was much shrubbery here — bushes three 
and four feet high. They were not in Tidwell's way. 
He went over them like a three-tined buck leaping a 
ten-rail fence when caught in a wheat field in May. 
"Go it, Johnnie; go it, Johnnie!" Bang, bang! 
**Stop that firing, you babies; go it, Johnnie; huzza! 
ten to one on the gray sprinter against the field." My, 
how those Yanks did yell and cheer ! And while they 
cheered Tidwell ran around the head of the column, 
across the road, and disappeared in the woods. 



COMMERCIALISM IN WAR. 

Returning to Georgia by way of Lynchburg, I 
stopped in that city to pay my respects to some of her 
citizens who by their courtesy and kindness had won 
the lasting regard of officers and men of our regiment 
at the time of its encampment there. 

While at Lynchburg, friends, thoughtful of the 
future of one disabled as I was, advised me to invest 
what money I had, or could command, in tobacco, as- 
suring me that it would advance rapidly. I had but 
five hundred dolars more than my present wants re- 
quired, but was told that, beginning even with so 
small a sum, by selling at the higher and rapidly 
advancing prices in Georgia, and keeping up stock by 
reinvestment in the markets yet open in Virginia and 
North Carolina, one could soon realize a handsome 
profit. 

387 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

The spirit of commercialism had not then reached 
the frenzy of speculation to which it attained at a 
later period in the progress of the war, but it was 
growing fast. It is almost enough to make one 
blush for his countrymen to recall the rapacious greed 
with which love of gain afflicted our country when she 
was bleeding at every pore. I knew a retired captain 
who, at a public sale, ran corn up to fifteen dollars a 
bushel, bidding against his own sister, whose husband 
had fallen in the public service. The widow wanted 
the corn for bread ; the ex-captain wanted it for 
distilling. 

Another incident, which came to my knowledge 
from an unquestionable source, indicates that some 
trusted agents of the government were infected with 
this insatiate greed. A planter in a certain county 
in South Carolina had sold his surplus corn to an 
agent of the Confederate Quartermaster of the De- 
partment of Charleston, and it was in government 
sacks awaiting shipment. An agent of the commis- 
sary, or of a miller who was under contract to sup- 
ply meal to the commissary at Wilmington, N. C, 
came and, after an interview with the planter, had the 
corn transferred to his sacks, which also bore the 
government stamp, and shipped to the mills in North 
Carolina. The planter had received twenty-five cents 
a bushel more than he had willingly agreed to accept 
from the Charleston Quartermaster. It seemed to 
me to be the duty of every citizen to sustain the gov- 
ernment as far as he possibly could. I therefore 
invested mv five hundred in a Confederate bond. 

388 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



ASSIGNED TO DUTY. 



I RETURNED to Georgia and wrote to Adjutant Gen- 
eral Cooper asking to be assigned to any duty for 
which I was capable. I had not to wait long, for 
while one basks in the light of home love old Time 
flits by on winged feet. I received the following or- 
der in reply to my application : 

Confederate States of America. 

Bureau of Conscription, 
Richmond, Va., January 21, 1863. 
Capt. John B. 'Beall, Carrollton, Ga. 

Sir: Your communication of December i, 1862, 
addressed to General Cooper has been referred to this 
bureau. You will report for duty as a drill officer, 
or such other duty as may be assigned you, to Col. 
John S. Preston, Commandant of Conscripts, Colum- 
bia, S. C, as soon as practicable after receipt of this 
letter. 

Very respectfully your obedient servant, 

A. C. Jones, Lt. Col. and A. A. G. 

As directed, I proceeded to Columbia, and was as- 
signed to duty as enrolling officer at Manning. Here 
I spent the summer of 1863. There was little to do. 
I found ten poor fellows who had no excuse for not 
being at the front except physical disability. The board 
of medical examiners, under the iron-bound rules 
prescribed for their guidance, found nine of these 
subject to service. Having no discretion, I sent them 
to the front, believing that eight of them were about 
as fit material for soldiers as a young chestnut sapling 
for a wagon axle. I heard afterwards that Major 
Gerry, to whose command they were assigned, talked 

389 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

savagely about the medical board that sent him such 
material, and that in a very short time they were near- 
ly all in the hospital, whence the survivors of them 
were sent back to their homes. 

One able-bodied man claimed exemption as a miller. 
I found that he owned a mill, and that it was kept 
by a negro. I held that he was not a miller in the 
sense of the law. He employed a distinguished law- 
yer, Mr. Manning, and appealed. I sent up a brief, 
giving the facts and the reasons upon which my con- 
clusion was based. The Bureau of Conscription af- 
firmed my decision, and the mill owner joined the 
cavalry. 

The manhood of Clarendon County was already at 
the front. Had the able-bodied men from eighteen 
to forty-five years of age, in all the counties of the 
South, gone to the front with like unanimity, our 
brave boys would not so often have had to fight su- 
perior numbers. 

Mrs. Beall joined me at Manning, and we received 
from the good people such courtesies as won our 
hearts. A prominent lawyer, Mr. Galluchat, tendered 
me the use of his office. He was an enthusiastic pa- 
triot, and I well remember the indignation he ex- 
pressed in telling me about the corn transaction above 
-related. He had with the care of a lawyer collected 
the facts of the case and brought them to the atten- 
tion of the government; but had not, when I came 
away, elicited any satisfactory elucidation of so novel 
an illustration of the mysteries of supplying the army. 

There being evidently no further occasion for the 
services of an enrolling officer at Manning, I asked 

390 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

to be transferred to Georgia, and for leave of absence 
pending my application, which had to be forwarded to 
Richmond. Colonel Preston readily granted leave of 
absence, and in the latter part of August I returned to 
Dallas, Ga., where, while awaiting orders, a part of 
my leisure was employed, at the request of Gen. Wil- 
liam Phillips, in drilling a company of cavalry raised 
for State service and encamped there. 

Some time I spent canvassing as a candidate for the 
State Senate. I found the masses weary of war and 
much discouraged. There had grown up, especially 
in the counties of Paulding and Haralson, a strong 
sentiment in favor of reconstruction. In Haralson 
Mr. Brock, a candidate for Representative favored 
by those entertaining this sentiment, proposed that his 
friends would support me if I would agree that mine 
would not actively oppose him. I declined to enter 
into any agreement with him. In a speech at Buch- 
anan, with more patriotism than politics, I assailed 
the reconstruction idea in such terms as soured against 
me many who, had I dodged the question, would have 
supported me for old acquaintance' sake, though aware 
of my views. The "peace on any terms" people were 
giving aid and encouragement to the enemy. While 
our brave men at the front were baring their breasts 
to the bullets of the foe, those who would surrender 
everything for peace were stabbing them in the back. 

Brock was elected, and, having been conscripted in 
the meantime, had the distinction, while in his seat in 
the House, of being referred to as "the gentleman 
from the conscript camp." I received the majority of 
the home votes — so small, however, that it was turned 

391 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



the Other way by the vote of the company of which 
my opponent was captain in the Army of Tennessee, 
and in which my candidacy was unknown except to 
some who were not my friends. 



ORDERED TO JAMES ISLAND. 

Brigadier General Ripley's Scheme for the 
Promotion of Junior Officers. 

While yet at Dallas I received the following order : 

Legares Point, James Island, S. C, 
September 27, 1863. 
Captain: In obedience to orders from Brigadier 
General Ripley, Commanding, you will either imme- 
diately report here for examination, send in your 
resignation, or give satisfactory evidence that you 
will be fit for duty in a short time from this date. 
By command of James H. Neal, Lt. Col. Comdg. 
W. H. Johnson, Lt. and Adjt. 
To J. B. Beall, Captain Company H, Nineteenth Ga. 

To which I replied as follows: 

Dallas, Ga., October 2, 1863. 

Colonel: Your communication of the 27th ult., by 
which I am directed to either immediately report for 
examination, send in my resignation, or furnish sat- 
isfactory evidence that I will be able for duty in a 
short time, is before me. I know not how else to 
account for this order than to attribute it to a failure 
to show the nature of my absence on the monthly re- 
turns and muster rolls. 

I herewith inclose the original order by which I 
was assigned to duty in the Conscript Bureau, and 

392 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

by which General Ripley will perceive that I am sub- 
ject to orders only from that Department. 

I am at present absent from my post in South Car- 
olina, with leave, to await the result of an application 
for a transfer to this State. I shall send a copy of 
your order to the Commandant of Conscripts at Co- 
lumbia and await his instructions. 

Whenever it shall become the policy of the govern- 
ment to compel disabled officers to resign, or when- 
ever it shall be intimated to me through the proper 
channels that the government no longer requires my 
services, I shall yield a cheerful compliance; but I 
do not recognize the authority of General Ripley, or 
any other General, to order me to resign, either posi- 
tively or as an alternative to obeying any other order. 

If, however, the General still desires me to report 
for examination, I will take pleasure in doing so, when 
relieved from duty in the Conscript Bureau, or when 
directed to do so by the proper officer of the depart- 
ment with which I am connected. 

I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant, 

John B. Beall, 
Captain Company H, Nineteenth Georgia Volunteers. 

In a few days I received a letter from Colonel Neal, 
of date October 26, explaining that the object of the 
order "is for all disabled officers to appear before the 
examining boards and, upon its recommendation, be 
assigned to such duties as they are qualified for, and 
vacate their places in the regiments, so that promo- 
tions may be made." Colonel Neal further stated 
that "the order is general, and applies to the miHtary 
district, and I am told to the whole army." 

If such was the object of the order, while I did not 
see how it could be carried out without an act of 
Congress providing for the retirement of disabled 

393 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

officers, I felt that it was due to junior officers on 
duty in the line that it should be done if practicable. 

The same mail that brought Colonel NeaFs letter 
brought also an order directing me to report for duty 
to Col. C. J. Harris, Commandant of Conscripts, Ma- 
con, Ga. I proceeded at once to Macon, where, at my 
request, an order was granted relieving me from duty 
in the enrolling service and directing me to proceed to 
Charleston for examination. 

On reporting to Colonel Neal, on James Island, I 
learned that my letter to him had been forwarded to 
the Secretary of War, and had been returned with 
that officer's disapproval of the whole proceedings. 

The Nineteenth was now in Colquitt's Brigade. I 
enjoyed here for several days a glad reunion with my 
old comrades, hearing many interesting stories of hard 
campaigning, adventure, and battle. The brave boys 
were still animated with unfaltering faith in Lee, 
Johnston, and the cause of the South. 

When I had prolonged my stay until I had begun 
to feel somewhat out of place, having no duties here, 
I made application for leave of absence on the ground 
of disability. The board of surgeons declined to grant 
a certificate because, they said, 'We cannot recommend 
furloughs except in cases of applicants who will be 
benefited by rest. Your injury is permanent, and 
resting will not remove it." This struck me as a 
peculiar kind of logic, as if the zealous surgeons had 
said: "We see well enough that you are not able 
for duty ; but you never will be able for duty, therefore 
we cannot relieve you from duty." 

At length, however, by direct application at dis- 
394 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

trict headquarters I got leave of absence for twenty 
days, beginning November 19, granted by Brigadier 
General Taliaferro, commanding seventh military dis- 
trict. 

I returned to Carrollton and devoted the next two 
months to efforts to make provision for my family. 
In January I sent to the Secretary of War my resigna- 
tion as captain, and, soon after receiving notice of its 
acceptance, entered upon the duties of assistant as- 
sessor of the war tax for the County of Carroll, Mr. 
P. G. Garrison being assessor. My duties were alto- 
gether at the desk. The people, with remarkable 
unanimity, came forward voluntarily and made their 
returns for assessment ; and if there was ever any diffi- 
culty in the collection of taxes or tithes, I didn't hear 
of it. There were few taxable people in the county 
who did not have some loved one at the front, with 
whom they felt that, in delivering tithes, they were 
indirectly sharing the products of their farms and their 
labor. But it became hard after a while. The cruel 
war made such heavy drafts from the producing class, 
and added, year after year, so many scarred and 
maimed soldiers to the class of nonproducers, that 
there seemed scarcely any surplus, after providing for 
destitute families of the absent, to send out to the 
armies in the field. Even patriotism must bow to the 
inexorable law of necessity. 

395 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



CARROLL IN WAR TIMES. 

The following is an imperfect picture of a condi- 
tion which the survivors of that day will recognize as 
common to all those counties in which the white popu- 
lation was so much in excess of the slave, and whose 
sons with like unanimity volunteered under the ban- 
ner of the South. It appeared in the Carroll County 
Times about twenty years after the war, under the 
above caption: 

"We can never forget the dark days of 1864. Look- 
ing back through the vista of a score of years that 
have elapsed, we can yet see the pale, anxious faces 
of the women who, driven by fell want to seek relief 
of the public authorities, gathered in groups about the 
streets and congregated at the tithe depot. But we 
shall not attempt a description of the general distress 
that prevailed. 

"There are doubtless some who, in the hurry and 
struggle and rush of money-getting, have almost for- 
gotten what the women and children and their hus- 
bands and fathers suffered then for the country. In- 
deed, even some of those who bore the burden of the 
day seem at times to have forgotten that their com- 
rades suffered with them — so potent are the real or 
imaginary conflicts of interests to break the ties that 
once bound them in common brotherhood. We offer 
them a reminder in the following copy of a letter 
which was a natural outcorne of the condition exist- 
ing when it was written : 

396 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



*'Carrollton, Ga., April, 1864. 

''Col. J. S. Preston, Superintendent Bureau of Con- 
scription, Richmond, Va. 

**Sir: I trust that my former connection with your 
department and with the military service will be re- 
garded as a sufficient excuse for addressing you on 
a subject in which I have no greater interest than 
every other citizen of this county, especially when it 
is considered that it has a direct bearing on the gen- 
eral interest of the country in her struggle for exist- 
ence. 

"The matter to which I desire to call your attention 
is as to whether this county can bear any further 
drafts from the producing class for the public service 
or not; and I shall endeavor to give you such in- 
formation, derived from official statistics and acquired 
by personal observation and free intercourse with the 
people in the discharge of my duties as assessor of 
the war tax for the county, as will enable you to 
judge intelligibly of the matter in question. 

"By the census returns of i860 the whole population 
of the county was 12,113. Of this number, according 
to the tax returns of 1862, only 1,908 were slaves (of 
all ages), and these were owned by 480 persons. 
Granting that these persons and their children derived 
a support from the labor of their slaves, it will be 
seen that rather more than eleven-twelfths of the white 
population were dependent on their own labor for 
subsistence. 

"Probably no people ever suffered so large a draft 
on their producing classes, except on some great tem- 
porary emergency. The consequence is that there are 
already 2,313 women and children on the list of indi- 
gents receiving aid from the State under the Act to 
Provide for Soldiers' Families. Under this act they 
drew last vear $28.70 each, or about three bushels of 

397 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

corn. The appropriation is larger for this year, and 
I am informed by one of the judges of the Inferior 
Court that the allowance will be about $52, or four 
and one-third bushels of corn. But the number of 
these indigents is constantly increasing, while the 
share of each decreases in proportion. Many fam- 
ilies are kept off the list only by the labor of boys who 
will this year arrive at the age of seventeen; others 
again by the aid of neighbors who are between forty- 
five and fifty. Besides, many who are on the indi- 
gent list, receiving aid under the law after the produce 
of their own labor is exhausted, are dependent to a 
large extent on the assistance of this class. Hence, 
if these men go into the field, the list of indigents 
must be largely increased and, of course, the share of 
each in the appropriation proportionately lessened. 
Already one man has frequently to render gratuitous 
assistance and partial support to one or two, and in 
some instances five or six, families. What the con- 
sequences would be if the families of these men 
should become dependent, I will not pause to con- 
sider. 

"The county never produces a large surplus for 
market. This year it made none ; or, if any, it has 
been more than consumed by public animals stationed 
in the county or passing through, or else it has been 
taken up in tithes — so that, although the most of those 
who were able to buy corn and pay the enormous 
cost of transportation by wagons from forty to one 
hundred miles have supplied themselves in that way. 
Yet the deficiency is estimated at ten thousand bushels. 
An effort is being made to procure that quantity 
through the State authorities. If successful — and the 
mind shrinks from contemplating the consequences of 
failure — it will have to be transported by wagons 
from the nearest railroad depot, twenty-five miles, and 
the teams and hands for this purpose must be with- 
drawn from the farms at a time when their labor will 
be most needed in the crops. 

398 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

*'An appeal has been made to the Secretary of War 
to suspend the collection of tithes; but it would seem 
that the extent of the destitution prevailing would 
require the distribution of the produce, including 
wheat or flour, already collected and not shipped off. 
This would perhaps supply the destitute until supplies 
can be obtained through the State authorities. 

*'As to the prospect for the future, the wheat crop 
of the present year has been so injured by late frost 
that it cannot yield more than two-thirds of an aver- 
age crop — perhaps not more than half. We must, 
therefore, depend mainly on the yield of corn. If all 
the men between the ages of seventeen and eighteen 
and forty-five and fifty who are able to bear arms 
are called from the plow to the field of service, the 
future of that class of persons — the wives and chil- 
dren of those 2,400 soldiers already in the field — 
whom I believe it is the pride as well as the duty of 
our honored Chief Executive to favor as far as pos- 
sible, will become a matter of momentous concern. I 
would make no appeal to the sympathies of the Pres- 
ident. His well-known character for benevolence 
renders that unnecessary. I simply deal in facts. Nor 
is it necessary to remind you, sir, that the trials of 
war ever fall most hardly on those who, while poor 
themselves, live in the midst of others who are unable 
to render assistance by reason of their own poverty. 
Even while writing I am just informed that a number 
of women, driven to desperation by destitution, have 
come to the tithe depot and demanded corn. It is 
for the government to consider what effect this condi- 
tion of affairs, if relief is not soon obtained, may 
have on the minds of the men at the front — the hus- 
bands, fathers, and brothers of these women and chil- 
dren. 

"I am aware that some of the men between forty- 
five and fifty may be detailed under the eleventh sec- 
tion of the act of February 17, but I am satisfied that 

399 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

in the majority of cases the appHcant would fail to 
make it appear that his own necessities or those of his 
own family required his exemption. The necessity is 
general, and relates to the whole community. Besides, 
if the matter is left to take the regular co* rse, such is 
the aversion of our people to conscriptioii, many of 
them who are perhaps able to provide for the tem- 
porary necessities of their own families, or in spite of 
their necessities, would volunteer. Indeed, companies 
are already being organized, and in the state of sus- 
pense under which they labor much time is lost that 
ought to be devoted to preparation for crops. It 
would therefore seem that the only effective remedy 
would be the suspension of conscription as to persons 
within the ages of seventeen to eighteen and forty- 
five to fifty who are farmers. I suppose mechanics 
are already exempt, and there are a few, who are 
neither farmers nor mechanics, who ought not to es- 
cape under a general suspension. 

"Such a course would not be without precedent even 
during the present war, the President by a general 
order having, soon after the extension of the con- 
script age from thirty-five to forty-five, suspended the 
enforcement of the law in several counties in North 
Georgia, including, I believe, Gilmer, Pickens, and 
Union, and, if I am not mistaken, upon the same 
grounds which I have endeavored to set forth here — 
the necessity of retaining the men at home as pro- 
ducers. 

''Trusting that, in view of the public interest in the 
subject, you will pardon the liberty I have taken, 

'T am, sir, 3^our obedient servant, 

John B. Beall." 

My letter to Colonel Preston was referred to the 
Conscript Board of the county, with instructions to 
report on the facts. That body reported, among other 

400 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



things, that the picture presented was not overdrawn, 
but rather fell short of the facts as to the distress 
prevailing. 



A BATTALION OF CAVALRY, ANCIENTS 

AND INFANTS, ORGANIZED FOR 

LOCAL SERVICE. 

Officer Captured by Federal Raiders Escapes. 

During the spring and summer of 1864 there 
were organized four companies of cavalry in Carroll 
and one in Heard County. They were made up 
chiefly of boys under the conscript age, veterans who 
had been discharged from the army on account of 
wounds, and a few men who had passed the age of 
liability to military service. The officers of these com- 
panies met and agreed to unite in the formation of a 
battalion, of which they requested me to take com- 
mand, and I consented. 

Already there had been two Federal cavalry raids 
in the county, and I had narrowly escaped capture 
by one of them. My brother, Capt. N. N. Beall, of 
the Second Georgia, on his way home from the hos- 
pital at Newnan, had fallen into the hands of the oth- 
er within a mile of the courthouse. That night I 
camped in Buck Creek Swamp, and the raiders camped 
on the lot now occupied by the courthouse. An offi- 
cer called at my residence and made polite inquiries 
about me and Mr. J. C. C. Carlton, whose wife, a 
sister of Mrs. Beall, was domiciled with us. Mr. 
Carlton was, I believe, with our cavalry near Atlanta. 
26 401 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

It was quite a compliment for a stranger from up 
North to manifest such an interest in us. He proposed 
to put the house and premises under the protection 
of a guard if the ladies desired it. But Mrs. Beall, 
being as much afraid of a guard as of any other men in 
blue, told him she couldn't think of putting him to 
so much trouble, but appreciated none the less the 
courtesy of the offer. 

Learning that my brother was held a prisoner, Mrs. 
Beall went to the officer of the guard and asked that 
he be allowed to go with her to the house to rest and 
get dinner. Her request was readily granted with 
the condition of his taking with him two men in blue — 
doubtless to see that my brother, having just come 
out of the hospital, should not be overfed. 

While there resting on a bed, his guards sitting in 
the hall, on each* side of the entrance to the room, 
Captain Beall privately requested Mrs. Beall to take 
his coat, which he had carried folded up on his arm, 
and remove from it the insignia of his rank. This 
he desired thinking that as a private he would not 
be as closely guarded as if known as an officer. Next 
day, when the column had halted for rest a mile or two 
east of Villa Rica, the tired sergeant of the guard, 
not wanting to disturb his weary men in their brief 
siesta, allowed him, on a plea of necessity, to retire 
alone into the woods. To more perfectly lull any sus- 
picion of an attempt to escape, he returned and lay 
down with the guard. In a little while, pleading ne- 
cessity again, he preferred a second request for per- 
mission to retire. "Go ahead," said the sergeant. 
This time he went and did not return. Looking back, 

402 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

he perceived that he was not watched, and walked on 
slowly until he could no longer see the Federals ly- 
ing in the woods. Then he ran. 'It seemed to me," he 
said in relating it afterwards, ''that as I ran the noise 
of my feet could be heard a mile." After proceeding 
some distance he crawled into a dense patch of briers 
and lay there until after dark. When the night had 
somewhat advanced, he came out and proceeded 
through the woods to a point opposite Villa Rica, 
where, being uncertain of his position, he lay down 
and slept till morning. Next day, without meeting 
with any adventure, he made his way home. 

It was thought that our battalion, though it could 
not defend the people from the larger cavalry raids, 
might by active vigilance, if properly directed, at 
least protect them from the depredations of bummers 
who hung upon the flanks and rear of the army. 

My commission as major was duly received, and 
was shortly followed by the orders of the Governor : 

State of Georgia, 
Adjutant and Inspector General's Office, 

MiLLEDGEVILLE, AugUSt 23, 1864. 

Maj. John B. Beall, Tallapoosa Rangers, Milledge- 

ville. 

Major : Your battalion of rangers raised for the 
emergency to serve in Carroll, and on the other side 
of the Chattahoochee generally, with the approval of 
General Hood and the Governor, having been organ- 
ized and commissioned, you will report to General 
Hood for orders and instructions as to the special 
service for which you have volunteered. You will 
receive and obey all instructions General Hood may 
give you, and you are to understand that, as adjuncts 

403 



IN BABIRACK AND FIELD. 

to his army and operations, you are to keep in com- 
munication with his headquarters constantly. 

By order of the Governor. 
Henry C. Wayne, Adjutant and Inspector General. 

In pursuance of these instructions I reported to 
General Hood in Atlanta, and received the following 
orders : 

Headquarters Army of Tennessee, 
September 26, 1864. 
Major Beall will procure arms and ammunition 
from such points as he may find convenient. In the 
absence of special instructions he will operate upon 
the communications of the enemy, harass and destroy 
his foraging parties, and do such other lawful service 
as circumstances may permit. 
By command of General Hood. 

F. A. Shoup, Chief of Staif. 

"Procure arms and ammunition at such points as 
he may find convenient." There was the rub. I rode 
about five hundred miles looking for those "convenient 
points" — once to Maj. Gen. Howell Cobb's head- 
quarters, near Griffin, once to Macon, and at last, 
when General Hood started on his disastrous expedi- 
tion to Tennessee, I followed from Palmetto and over- 
took him at Pray's Mill Church, only to be told: "I 
haven't enough arms for my own men." 

A few days afterwards an officer of the battalion, 
being on scout, found part of a wagon load of mus- 
kets which the conductor of Hood's ordnance train 
had deposited in an old cabin and abandoned. 

404 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

A RIDE UP PEACHTREE STREET. 

While awaiting arms for my little command I rode 
over to Atlanta to see my brother in the Second Geor- 
gia and learn how he and the boys were getting along 
in the trenches. I had a nephew, Capt. A. A. Beall, 
of Irwinton, Ga., in the same regiment, whom I 
wished to see also. As I rode along Peachtree Street 
the absence of the throngs of people usually passing 
on such a thoroughfare impressed me with a sense 
of isolation— a loneliness not unlike that which one 
feels in going through a dense forest. I had ad- 
vanced but a few blocks when a shell from some- 
where away beyond the ridge in my front passed me 
on its mission of destruction toward the heart of the 
city. It was followed by others on different lines, 
as if each were sent to find some new victim or some 
more valuable target. As I advanced up the street 
I came nearer on the level of the flight of these angry 
messengers, and it was with a decided sense of relief 
that, after passing the highest point, I turned down 
the decline toward the waters of Peachtree Creek. ' 

Coming near the line of intrenchments, I observed 
a number of men resting under board shelters in a 
deep hollow. Approaching them, I was greeted by 
Capt. John M. Cobb, of the Fifty-Sixth Georgia. 
From him I learned the position of my brother's regi- 
ment, which I found not far off, in the intrenchment 
where its course led over a hill. Here my brother's 
comrades told me that he had been sent back to a 
field hospital below Atlanta. I was disposed to linger 
for a chat with the boys ; but they warned me that, as 

405 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I sat on my horse uncovered by the embankment, I 
was exposed to the fire of the enemy's skirmishers, 
who kept up an almost constant exchange of 
shots with ours. So I leisurely rode back to Captain 
Cobb's shelter. Having tied my horse to a conven- 
ient sapling, I joined the Captain and his comrades, 
and was having a nice chat with them when a sharp 
blow on the plank just over my head made me start 
and ask what it was. ''O, that's only a spent ball 
from the Yankee skirmish line." 

I was told that when these shelters were first put 
up they were placed on the other side of the hollow, 
facing toward the front, and that a man lying under 
one of the shelters one day had been severely wounded 
in the foot by a bullet from the skirmish line. The 
place was twenty-five or thirty feet lower than the 
intrenchment and about a hundred yards in rear of 
it. Until warned, I had not thought of any danger 
to my horse standing out there where I had tied him. 
I felt safe myself under the shelter; but as I could 
not afford to have my horse hurt, I took my leave, 
mounted, and rode back toward the city. 

As I passed down Peachtree Street I saw a shell, 
which had passed as near me as I wanted it, enter 
the back of a chimney about two blocks down the 
street and a little to the left. I went on to Larkin 
Street and called on a friend of my schoolboy days. 
Here I was shown a bombproof in the yard, into 
which the family had been wont to retire in the first 
days of the siege. But they had becom.e accustomed 
to the shells now, and the bombproof was used for 
storage. My friend showed me where a shell, de- 

406 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

scending along the side of the house, had knocked 
splinters off the weatherboard and torn off part of 
the sill of the window by which she had been sitting. 
While we sat talking of the events of the siege, look- 
ing toward Peters Street, we saw a shell drop on the 
roof of a large two-story house, roll down, and fall 
first on the portico and then to the ground. A lady 
and gentleman were standing in the door. I was 
surprised to see the man run down the steps and pick 
up the dangerous missile. I was not surprised to see 
him drop it as if it burned his hands. Perhaps he 
knew it was not a fuse shell. 

I had occasion to go to Atlanta several times while 
the siege was pending, but never found myself in- 
clined to linger after the conclusion of my business. 



CAVALRY FIGHT AT NEWNAN. 

Returning from one of my visits to Atlanta, when 
near Palmetto I learned that a body of Federal cav- 
alry had passed in the direction of Lafayette, pursued 
by Confederates. I galloped on toward Newnan, and 
soon came within sound of a battle. It was evidently 
in the direction in which I was riding. I pressed for- 
ward and arrived in the vicinity of the conflict about 
the time it ended in the overthrow and dispersion of 
the Federal raiders. That night I enjoyed, with 
many others, the hospitality of Mr. and Mrs. Ray, a 
couple distinguished by all those virtues that consti- 
tute the charm of social life. Their hearts and home 
were open to all who wore the gray. 

407 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

I had the satisfaction here of putting into practice 
such skill as I had acquired while serving as hospital 
steward in ante-bellum days, in redressing the wound- 
ed foot of a young brigadier general. It was not a 
very recent wound, and its condition was such that 
I could not but admire the nerve of one who, suffering 
as he must have suffered, had kept the saddle and 
led his command in the pursuit and in battle. 

Subsequently Col. Jiles Boggess, of Ross's Brigade, 
Texas Cavalry, related to me an account of a singular 
incident of this fight. In the movements incident to 
the engagement a regiment of Federal cavalry was 
thrust in between the Texas regiment, fighting on 
foot, and its horses. Colonel Boggess, on becoming 
aware of the situation, called the attention of his men, 
and, having quietly informed them of the fact, added : 
"Now, boys, you've got to fight your way back to 
your horses or take it afoot. About face! Charge!" 
The way those Texans went through that line of 
Federal cavalry indicated a fondness for horseflesh 
that could have been acquired only by long and inti- 
mate association. The enemy's cavalry were not ac- 
customed to meeting the charge of men on foot armed 
with revolvers, and were so astounded that nearly 
all their shots went wild, and very soon they were 
flying from the remounted Texans. 



KILPATRICK'S RAID. 

The name of old Col. Jiles S. Boggess is asso- 
ciated with my earliest recollections. He came to my 
native town, I think, from Tennessee. He was pro- 

408 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

prietor of the principal tavern in the village, and 
ran stages from Augusta, Ga., to Montgomery, Ala., 
and on other lines. He was sheriff of the county, 
and a terror to the horse thieves who then infested all 
the frontier of Georgia. Through his vigilance and 
skillful leadership of posses, the 'Tony Club" was 
broken up and became a thing of the past. The im- 
pression of him which my memory holds is of an 
upright, energetic, public-spirited, strong man. 

There was a junior Jiles. He it was that became 
captain of the first military organization I was con- 
nected with — a company of boys who, armed witli 
wooden guns and swords, in paper caps, maneuvered 
in the old academy grove, fought over the battles of 
the Revolution, and charged imaginary red men hid- 
den in the bushes. My lessons alternated between the 
a b c's of Noah Webster, at the knees of good 
old Mr. James, and the a b c's of McComb's infantry 
tactics, as taught orally by Captain Boggess. While 
I was yet a child. Colonel Boggess emigrated to 
Texas, where, as I have heard, he was, at fourscore, 
leading a company of rangers against the Comanches. 

Our boy captain went with his father to the country 
of the Lone Star, which had already attracted to her 
vast plains such men as Sam Houston, Davie Crock- 
ett, Travis, and the deathless heroes of the Alamo. 

It was quite natural, therefore, when I heard that 
Col. Jiles Boggess, the captain of my childhood days, 
commanded a regiment in Ross's Brigade, then en- 
camped near Atlanta, that I went to see him. I found 
him a man of calm and thoughtful mien and robust 
frame, but rather smaller than his father as I remem- 

409 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

bered him. While rechning in his tent and call- 
ing up from the dim past half-forgotten names and 
incidents, the Colonel received orders to get ready to 
move. ''Boots and saddles" was sounded — it was 
about lo P.M. — and in a few minutes the regiment was 
mounted and in line. 

Kilpatrick had started on his raid around Atlanta. 
Heavy firing was heard toward the left for a while. 
It had subsided. The little force we had to obstruct 
Kilpatrick's advance having been swept out of his 
path, he was advancing by a road leading in the direc- 
tion of Fairburn. Colonel Boggess received an order 
to move by a road leading out to the A. & W. P. Rail- 
road. It was parallel to that along which the enemy 
was moving, and we could plainly hear the rumble of 
his artillery carriages. When we came to the railroad 
the Federals had reached it, and were already tearing 
up the track down there to the right. 

Ross was not strong enough for attack. He could 
only watch, and, as the enemy's column proceeded in 
the direction of Jonesboro, throw his little force in his 
front and seize upon such points as were favorable 
for obstructing his advance. It will be remembered 
that Hood hurried a small force of infantry to Jones- 
boro and Love joy Station, and that the latter was 
successfully defended. The depot and other property 
at Jonesboro were destroyed. Our little force of cav- 
alry took a position in the woods east of the village 
and endeavored to hold it against Kilpatrick's heavy 
columns. Their fire did not even check the enemy. 
They were practically ridden down. 

It was here at Jonesboro on the day of this fight 
410 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

that I saw the most gruesome sights that came under 
my observation during the war. I talked with sev- 
eral Texans whose heads, shoulders, and arms had 
been hacked with sabers. They were of those who 
had been posted in the woods. One of them told me 
that when he found himself in the midst of the ad- 
vancing squadrons he held up his hands in token of 
surrender, yet every Yankee that passed in reach of 
him would strike at him with a saber. I looked into 
a car the floor of which was covered with wounded 
Confederates. One poor fellow lay on his back hold- 
ing in his hands his smaller intestines, already turn- 
ing black. This is war. 



AFTER THE BATTLE. 

In the years that have elapsed since the terrible 
days of which I write, many things of minor impor- 
tance have faded from memory. I do not now recall 
whether I chanced to be within sound of the roar of 
battle on the 31st of August or whether the news 
of the deadly grapple of the mighty forces came to me 
by other means. On the evening of the ist of Sep- 
tember I found myself approaching the scene of the 
conflict in front of Jonesboro, by the Griffin road. I 
remember meeting General Martin, who kindly gave 
me information about the progress of the battle. Gen- 
eral Hood had withdrawn Lee's Corps and gone back 
to Atlanta to cover the withdrawal of the division of 
militia and State troops which had been left there in 
the trenches. Hardee's Corps had thus been left to 
confront the entire Federal army. 

411 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Anxious about my brother and other kindred and 
friends, I pressed forward. Not far from the village 
I met a commissary train in charge of Capt. Thaddeus 
Beall, of Mississippi, my cousin. We had not met for 
years, and our meeting now was scarcely more than 
a hearty greeting, kind inquiries about our respective 
families, and good-by — to meet no more on the stage 
of action. Soon I began to see evidences of the bat- 
tle. A train of freight cars in vs^hich wounded men 
were being placed stood on the track, with steam up, 
ready to move. Among the wounded I found another 
kinsman, Capt. John M. Cobb, of the Fifty-Sixth 
Georgia. He had received a shot in the leg that put 
an end to his military career, but happily his life was 
preserved for a future of honorable public service 
and exemplary citizenship. Some of the wounded 
camplained bitterly of General Hood's having ''left 
Hardee's Corps to fight the whole Yankee army." 

Riding forward, I came to a little eminence near 
the southern extremity of the village upon the crest 
of which there was a slight breastwork of rails ex- 
tending across the road. Beyond it a number of 
bodies in the uniform of the Federal cavalry were 
lying in and near the road. One stalwart fellow, of 
remarkable physique and handsome German features, 
lay with head almost upon the slight obstruction of 
rails. Possibly he was American-born — possibly a 
soldier of fortune, who had bet his life on the chances 
of gold and glory and had lost. It was pitiful 
that this splendid body, which, whatever the spirit 
that had animated it, seemed in its proportions de- 
signed to illustrate the triumphs of Nature's handi- 

412 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



work, should have been sacrificed to the ambition of 
demagogues and the hypocrite folly of fanatics. 

The enemy's batteries over to the left of the vil- 
lage, and beyond, seemed to be feeling for our posi- 
tion. At any rate, they were scattering shells like 
Farmer Gilly's man scattered his guano, ''promiscoly 
over the field." Certainly, to one within range, their 
aim was uncomfortably promiscuous. 

Advised not to ride through the village, I turned 
to the right, crossed the railroad, and within a short 
distance entered a country road leading north to a 
public road which, some miles to the east, intersects 
the Atlanta "and McDonough road, by which Hood 
was expected to return. As I went forward I discov- 
ered in a field on my right a large number of head- 
quarters wagons, company wagons, cooks preparing 
rations, hospital tents about which surgeons were at 
work dressing wounds, and wounded men resting in 
the shade, awaiting their turn. The place was pro- 
tected from the enemy's shells by an intervening ridge. 
Soon after reaching the public road leading east- 
ward I was joined by an anxious father on the way 
to meet his son, who was serving on General Hood's 
escort. We were strangers to each other, but our 
meeting was mutually pleasing. We rode forward, 
beguiling the time in discussing passing events, until 
awhile after sunset, when we halted at a house on the 
road and bought some forage for our horses. Riding 
on about a mile, we left the road and, turning into a 
thicket of old-field pines several hundred yards to the 
left, bivouacked for the night. 
About night the sounds of the conflict we had left 
413 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

behind ceased. General French, in his ''Two Wars," 
after a partial account of the fighting on the 31st, says 
that at night Lee's Corps was withdrawn; that late 
next evening Sherman hurled his forces against Har- 
dee's attenuated line, and that they were repulsed at 
every point but one, and here our line was restored 
within one hundred and fifty yards of the broken 
point and held until night. 

My fellow-traveler and I were in the saddle next 
morning by the time we could see our way back to 
the road. We had ridden but a short distance when 
we met Confederate scouts who informed us that they 
were on their way to ascertain the enemy's position. 
Our forces had fallen back during the night, and we 
had slept between the lines. Arriving at the Mc- 
Donough road, we took the Atlanta end and rode on 
until we met the advance of Lee's Corps. 

To ride along a road in which a column of infantry 
is moving in an opposite direction is both difficult 
and embarrassing. It is especially so when the in- 
fantrymen are in a sullen mood. The men of Lee's 
Corps were not in high good humor at having been 
forced to make a hard march of two days "just to 
escort the militia out of Atlanta." They were tired, 
a night march was before them, and they were feel- 
ing that it would be sweet to fall down by the road 
where they were and forget their weariness in sleep. 

Passing through a dense growth of young saplings, 
as we proceeded, stooping low to avoid the branch of 
a tree as my horse stepped over a log, I looked into 
the face of a soldier close at my side, passing in the 
opposite direction. "Bless my soul ! It's John 

414 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

Saunders." He had been my comrade five years on 
the frontier, and it had been four years since I left 
him in the Indian Territory. Mutual recognition was 
instantaneous. As I saw a flash across the weariness 
which his face expressed, I felt my own pulse quick- 
en. A week would scarce have sufficed to exhaust the 
subjects we would have discussed. But John was a 
soldier too well trained to lag when his weariness 
might prevent his coming up in due time with his 
place in the column, and I too old .a soldier to encour- 
age him to take here the rest he so much needed, 
while giving me a sketch of his experiences since we 
parted. A few minutes I detained him, then a warm 
handclasp, a hearty good-by, and I had looked my 
last upon a friend whom I knew to be honest and true 
as a man, and who as a soldier would shrink from no 
duty. Thus do our life paths cross. 

I was glad, when we met General Hood, that my 
fellow-traveler found his son in excellent health. Far- 
ther on I met my brother, not in good health, but at 
the head of his company. I turned back with him, 
and on the night march that followed my horse made 
no complaint at carrying double. Turning aside, we 
found lodging at the home of one of my old comrades 
of the Nineteenth Georgia, who did everything possi- 
ble for our comfort. Next morning I saw my broth- 
er, much refreshed by the rest, well on the way to 
rejoin his regiment, the division having halted in the 
vicinity of McDonough. Here I reluctantly bade him 
good-by and took my way homeward. 

415 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



IN CAMP ONCE MORE. 

An order dated November 25, 1864, from Governor 
Brown, directed me to report with my battalion, dis- 
mounted, at West Point, Ga. I was further directed 
to assemble and attach to my command the several 
companies of organized militia of the county of Car- 
roll. In pursuance of this order, the battalion was 
assembled at Moore's Bridge, on the Chattahoochee; 
but the militia failed to materialize, except two cap- 
tains, William C. Awtrey and Gilley. Having as 

many officers as I wanted, and believing that these 
would be of more service at home in raising supplies 
than in the field without commands, I sent them home 
to await further orders. In the meantime I was or- 
dered to report to Gen. William Phillips at Newnan. 
I reported December 4, and at last the battalion was 
armed. 

In a few days we went forward to Macon, where we 
went into camp. The weather becoming very severe, 
I succeeded while here in persuading several old gen- 
tlemen, whose patriotic zeal had survived their power 
to endure the exposure and fatigue of the service, to 
accept discharges and return home. Among these, I 
remember Mr. Barnes, the father of Messrs. J. J. 
and W. H. Barnes, of Atlanta, and Mr. Colquitt, the 
father of Rev. George Colquitt, of Palmetto, Ga. 

In a few days the battalion was ordered to proceed 
to Doctortown, on the Altamaha, to be attached to 
McCay's Brigade. At Albany the command received 
an accession of two companies. It was now entitled 

416 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 



to a lieutenant colonel, to which office I was elected 
without opposition, Captain Baker, another disabled 
soldier, taking the rank of major. 



AN IRATE FARMER. 

We were detained at Albany a day or two waiting 
for wagons. We were breaking camp for the march 
to Thomasville when the last one of the requisite num- 
ber reported. It came without forage for its team. 
The forage provided for the other teams, in conse- 
quence of dividing with this one, was exhausted, and 
at the last encampment on the route it became neces- 
sary to procure a supply. I had ridden forward to 
Thomasville to make arrangements for transportation 
to Doctortown. The command passed a tithe agency 
that day. The reason given by Captain Cheeves, our 
quartermaster, for not getting forage at the agency 
was that the agent was not authorized to issue it to 
State troops. Had he taken the necessary supply and 
given his receipt, there would have been no trouble 
about it. Instead of doing so he passed on, and when 
the command had gone into camp for the night ap- 
plied to a farmer for enough forage to feed the teams. 
The farmer refused to let him have it, and Captain 
Cheeves proceeded to impress it. 

Next day, some time after the battalion had ar- 
rived at Thomasville and gone into camp, I received 
information that the man who had so unwillingly 
supplied our team with forage was in town and 
27 417 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

would probably arrive presently at our camp with 
the sheriff, bearing an invitation to Captain Cheeves 
to appear before His Honor, the Judge of the Superior 
Court, to answer a charge of trespass. I instructed 
the officer of the guard to put a cordon of sentinels 
around the camp with orders to admit no one with- 
out an order from me; and having advised Captain 
Cheeves to remain inside his tent, I went away. It 
was to be "Not at home" to all comers. 

As reported to me afterwards, the sheriff came with 
the farmer and, finding the camp shut against him, 
inquired for "the Colonel." No one could tell him 
where that officer was, for no one really knew. When 
the angry citizen found that the sheriff could not get 
his man, he began to pour out a very picturesque 
vocabulary, applying it to the whole command. The 
boys, safe inside the lines, replied in kind. This made 
him still angrier, and he called us names, to which the 
boys responded with jeers, until Mr. Sheriff, who had 
not been fully able to hide his amusement, led him 
away from the unequal contest. The man who would 
engage in slinging epithets with soldiers needs to 
have had much training in the school of badgering. 
That night I sent Captain Cheeves on to Doctortown. 
I spent the greater part of the next day in efforts, with 
the help of the Judge of the Superior Court and per- 
haps a dozen other good citizens, to effect a compro- 
mise with the offended citizen. He was, after much 
persuasion, prevailed upon to take an accepted order 
on the local tithe agent for a quantity of forage equal 
in value to the produce taken from his place and the 
cost of hauling it back to his barn. I was the more 

418 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

disposed to make every reasonable effort to satisfy 
him because I knew that many people in different 
parts of the State had suffered from the exactions 
of irresponsible officers and pretended officers, much 
to th€ discredit of the army, on the plea of the neces- 
sity of the public service. Almost every emergency 
as to supplies could have been met, by officers who 
understood their duty and respected private rights, 
by the regular methods provided by Confederate and 
State laws and regulations. 

While at Thomasville I enjoyed the hospitality of 
my kinsman, Mr. Charles Beall, who insisted that I 
should make his house my home. 

As soon as cars could be provided the battalion 
moved to Doctortown. Here, attached to General 
McCay's Brigade, we spent the winter, with no other 
duty than that of watching the Altamaha Bridge. 
I employed the time in drilling, and I believe the 
battalion was brought to a state of discipline fitting 
it for any service. 

Early in the year 1865 we were furloughed in- 
definitely. One incident of our homeward journey 
may be recalled with pleasure by some of the younger 
members of the Tallapoosa Rangers. Traveling in 
freight cars without seats, between Macon and Colum- 
bus one day when even the efforts made to pass the 
time agreeably had become irksome, I wrote on a 
scrap of paper several verses, the sentiment of which 
was common to all of us, springing, as it did, from 
thoughts of home. I handed the paper to one of the 
boys, who, perceiving that the measure was that of a 
once popular song, began to sing the lines. The boys 

419 



IN BARRACK AND FIELD. 

grouped about him, looking over his shoulder, joined 
in, and one voice after another was added until the 
song rang out above the noise of the train. I kept 
no copy of the verses, and can only recall the follow- 
ing: 

In my cabin home in Carroll 

I've a treasure rich and rare, 
For my bonnie Mary Jennie 

Is waiting for me there. 

Beyond the Chattahoochee over the mountain, 

Where my bonnie lassie's waiting, there's rest for me. 

There's rest for the soldier, there's rest for the soldier ; 
There is rest for the soldier, there is rest for me. 

Pain and sickness may distress us, 

Poverty our lot may share ; 
But, with hands and hearts together, 

We'll still be happy there. 

Beyond the Chattahoochee over the mountain, 
Where my bonnie lassie's waiting, there's rest for me. 

There's rest for the soldier, there's rest for the soldier; 
There is rest for the soldier, there is rest for me. 

420 



The End. 



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